


Seeking Solas

by The_Real_Fenris



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Dalish, Exalted Plains, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Dorian Pavus, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Skyhold, Spoilers, The Fade, Val Royeaux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:22:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 23,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Real_Fenris/pseuds/The_Real_Fenris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Corypheus has been defeated, Dorian finds that life at Skyhold has become kind of dull. At least until Varric brings the Inquisitor to one of their weekly games of Wicked Grace. And how is he to ever repay the Inquisitor for regaining the Pavus birthright?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wicked Grace

**Author's Note:**

> So... this is the first fan fic I've written. I did try to be faithful to the Dragon Age world, but if you find something that doesn't fit, please feel free to let me know and I will fix it. Thanks for checking it out!

When Varric entered the tavern, Dorian was surprised to see that the dwarf wasn’t alone. Not that Varric didn’t usually bring someone else along to their weekly game of Wicked Grace. He usually arrived accompanied by one of the Chargers, every now and then by one of the Inquisition’s agents, and, on a rare occasion, by one of the mages they’d rescued from Redcliff. However, this was the first time he’d brought the Inquisitor.

Since they’d defeated Corypheus, Dorian hadn’t seen much of Trillian Lavellan. According to Varric, the Inquisitor now spent his days entrenched in paperwork instead of battling rogue Templars and Venatori. Before defeating Corypheus, Dorian, as his friend and trusted ally, had traveled everywhere with the Inquisitor and had fought valiantly beside him. Given how humdrum his days had become since then, Dorian almost felt nostalgic for the danger. What he wouldn’t give to battle an entire cave of darkspawn again at the Inquisitor’s side!

As they sat down, the Inquisitor gave him a small, but genuinely pleased, smile. “How have you been, Dorian?”

Dorian marveled to note how he’d even missed hearing the Inquisitor’s voice. It was a lovely voice, somewhat lyrical, with an accent that hinted at both everywhere and nowhere – no doubt due to his clan being constantly on the move. Or maybe it was just a Dalish thing? “Dying of boredom. I don’t think there’s a decent book left in the library that I haven’t read. In fact, I was thinking about how much more exciting things would be if, say, an archdemon flew out of Varric’s ass.”

Varric held up his hands. “Woah, now. Leave my ass out of this.”

One corner of the Inquisitor’s mouth quirked up. “I’ll have to see what I can do to make things more exciting for you.”

As much as he would have enjoyed it, Dorian was certain that the Inquisitor was _not_ flirting with him. He’d misinterpreted a few of the Inquisitor’s comments in the past, and had learned of his mistake the hard way. He’d even gone as far to show up in the Inquisitor’s quarters with an offer of sex, only to be politely informed that the Inquisitor was already involved with someone else. And, of all people, _Cassandra_.

“You can begin the excitement by dealing the cards,” Dorian said. He then turned in his chair to flag down the serving girl. “We will need wine. Make it red. And keep it coming.”

Taking Dorian at his word, the serving girl kept their glasses full. As they played, they talked, reminisced, and kept drinking. After a couple of hours had passed, Dorian realized that he was most pleasantly drunk. And, judging by his companions’ faces, they were, too.

Perhaps it was due to the wine, but as the evening progressed, Dorian kept stealing looks at the Inquisitor sitting across from him. Lavellan was the first Dalish elf he’d ever met, but since then, during their travels, they had encountered other Dalish, so Dorian knew that the Inquisitor’s appearance was typical of his people. He had a slender build, and was not very tall, with fair skin, and blond hair that he wore most unfashionably long to his shoulders. He had large, beautiful green eyes, a small, turned-up nose, and full, pink lips. His bone structure was to die for. In fact, he was one of the prettiest men that Dorian had ever seen. He certainly wasn’t Dorian’s usual type – manly and strapping – but, for some reason, Dorian still found him immensely attractive. Maybe it was just a Dalish thing? Although he suspected that it wasn’t really the Inquisitor’s looks that had initially warmed his interest. Other than their both being mages, they had many opinions in common, and from the beginning the Inquisitor was one of the few people who had made him feel welcome at Skyhold. Never once did a harsh comment about Tevinter blood magic nor elven slaves nor necromancy once pass his lips, although Dorian was certain that the Inquisitor couldn’t possibly approve of any of these things.

Eventually, though, the Inquisitor glanced up from his cards and caught Dorian staring at him. Across the table, their eyes locked. Dorian couldn’t tell what the Inquisitor was thinking. All he could think was about how damn pretty the Inquisitor’s eyes were, and wonder what it would be like to kiss those soft, full lips.

Varric, having noticed his companions’ silence, set his cards down on the table. “Well. I think it’s about time we called it a night.”

At this announcement, Dorian was finally able to break free of the Inquisitor’s mesmerizing gaze. “You mean you’re actually quitting while I’m ahead?” he drawled. “Why, we have a miracle! Someone ought to inform the Chantry.”

Having put away the cards and collected their respective winnings, they all stood up from the table. Except that the Inquisitor teetered on his feet, then promptly fell back down in his chair.

Varric chuckled. “Looks like someone had too much to drink.” He turned to Dorian. “Maybe you should make sure he gets back to his quarters in one piece.”

“Certainly,” Dorian agreed, and sketched a mock bow. “Dorian Pavus, babysitter of the Inquisition, at your service.”

“I’m fine,” the elf said, but didn’t protest when Dorian came around to his side of the table and hoisted him to his feet. Instead, he leaned into Dorian as the Tevinter mage put a supporting arm around his back. Having said their good nights to Varric, Dorian and the Inquisitor stumbled out of the tavern, across the courtyard, and up the stairs into Skyhold proper.

Dorian led him through the Great Hall, then they started the long trek up the stairs to the Inquisitor’s quarters. They had made good progress up until this point, but now Dorian silently cursed the steep, narrow stairs as they slowly made their way upwards.

About halfway up, Dorian sighed. “Couldn’t you have gotten rooms on the ground floor?”

“Josephine chose them,” the Inquisitor mumbled. “She didn’t even ask me for my opinion.”

When Trillian spoke, Dorian felt his breath, hot against his neck. He was all too suddenly aware of the pressure of the Inquisitor’s body against his, his arm around the Inquisitor’s tight, slender back. Not wanting to think about that, nor the fact that he was almost in the Inquisitor’s bedroom, he cleared his throat and asked, “So. How is Cassandra doing these days? Has she officially become the Divine?”

Five more steps. _Nearly there...._

“I don’t really know,” Trillian finally said.

“You don’t know?”

Another step, and they had safely reached the landing.

“Cassandra and I... we aren’t together anymore.”

That gave Dorian pause. He turned his head to look at the Inquisitor. He spoke quietly. “What happened?”

Trillian half-shrugged, and made a loose gesture as if to say, _Well, you know..._ “She’s the head of the Chantry.”

“And you’re the head of the Inquisition. In other words, a perfect match, Herald of Andraste.”

Trillian grimaced at the title. “You know how I feel about the Chantry. And Cassandra wants to reestablish the Circle.” He sighed. “You know how I feel about that, too.”

Dorian did know. He felt the same way about the Chantry – a bunch of self-righteous, chant-slinging hens. And, as for the Circle, it would take more than an army of darkspawn to drag _him_ into one. If he didn’t go back to Tevinter, he’d rather be branded an apostate. “I see.”

The Inquisitor looked at him for a moment. Then he asked, “How’s Iron Bull?”

Dorian bristled. Some things were best kept private, but once they’d started sleeping together, the Qunari had let everyone know all about it. Normally he would have evaded the question, but he could emphasize with the Inquisitor. “Well. It was... interesting. While it lasted.”

The Inquisitor frowned. “If he broke your heart...”

Dorian smiled. “You’re assuming that my heart was in it. Did you really think I’d fall in love with someone like him?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“True. Since I’ve met you, I’ve seen a large number of strange things.”

The Inquisitor didn’t reply. Instead, he just continued to stare into Dorian’s eyes. Once again, Dorian became aware of the gentle pressure of the Inquisitor’s body next to his. In the dim light of the room, he was dazzling. And Dorian started wondering again what it would be like to kiss him.

Those thoughts would not do. They were _dangerous_. “It’s getting late,” Dorian announced. “I should get you to bed.”

The Inquisitor spoke softly. “Yes. You should.”

The way he’d spoken those words caused Dorian’s breath to catch in his throat. For a moment, he believed that the Inquisitor was inviting him to bed. But, no... _that can’t be._ He’d misinterpreted the situation before. Not a mistake he was going to make again.

Even as he thought this, the Inquisitor leaned forward, tilting up his head, as his hands lightly circled Dorian’s waist.

Suddenly they were kissing. Tentative kisses, soft and slow. For a moment, all Dorian could think was, _Kaffas! I’m kissing the_ Inquisitor! Not only that, but it was better than he’d even imagined it. His lips were so soft, and sweet with wine. It took Dorian a great deal of effort to carefully pry the Inquisitor off him.

Trillian looked at him quizzically. “Is there something wrong?”

Dorian sighed. “Where do I start? You’re drunk. I’m drunk. You just ended a relationship. As did I. Neither one of us is currently in a position to make a good decision.”

The green eyes glittered at him, as though the Inquisitor had fireflies in his eyes. Lips curled into a sly smile. “So let’s make a bad decision.”

Dorian swallowed hard as the Inquisitor’s hands fell upon his waist again. “Such words you say,” he murmured, but he didn’t try to stop him. Instead, against his better judgment, he let the Inquisitor kiss him again.

This time, the Inquisitor was bold, his kiss seeking and demanding. Dorian parted his lips, allowing the Inquisitor’s tongue into his mouth. The touch of the Inquisitor’s tongue sent shivers through his bones, heated his blood, and weakened his knees. He was certain that if he didn’t get this beautiful elf to the bed soon, Dorian’s legs would give out on him, leaving them both in a heap on the floor. Swaying, almost dancing, and still kissing, Dorian maneuvered the Inquisitor the short distance to the bed, then pushed him down to the mattress.

Trillian lay back, waiting with open arms as Dorian removed and discarded his shirt before joining him on the bed. Kissing again, Dorian shivered as the Inquisitor’s hands began to slowly explore his chest. Leaning back, Dorian reached for the buttons on the Inquisitor’s shirt.

Hazy green eyes watched him with interest. At that moment, Dorian had a terrible thought, and wondered why he hadn’t thought to ask sooner. “Please tell me, _amatus,”_ he said. “You have been with a man before, haven’t you?”

Amusement sparkled in Trillian’s eyes. “I’ve been with a male from my clan,” he said. “But you’re the first _shem.”_

“A dubious honor, no doubt,” Dorian murmured, leaning down to kiss the skin he’d just exposed. In response, the Inquisitor made soft sounds of pleasure. Then, when Dorian’s hand slid down between his hips, he moaned softly.

Despite any adverse effects from the wine, the proof that the Inquisitor wanted him was below Dorian’s hand. For someone of such small stature, what he had between his legs felt more than adequate. Longing to become better acquainted with it, Dorian wasted no time unraveling the laces of the Inquisitor’s pants and taking the long-waited-for prize into his mouth.

Below him, the Inquisitor writhed, moaning with abandon as Dorian, who’d been told he was rather skilled at this act, licked and sucked him until he finally sputtered out, “Dorian... stop... I’m going to.... uh...”

Dorian drew back with a wicked grin, enjoying the sight of the Inquisitor’s beautiful face smeared with pleasure. “Are you sure you want me to stop?”

Trillian moaned once more. “I want you... inside me.”

Those were inflammatory words. Unexpected, as well, because he’d assumed that the Inquisitor wouldn’t want to go that far. And fortunate, as it was a request that Dorian was more than eager to fulfill. He wasted no time stripping them both out of boots and pants, and took the Inquisitor in his arms, delighting in the feel of his lean, hard body naked against his own. “Are you sure?”

The Inquisitor’s hand fluttered towards the table by the bed. “In the drawer.”

Leaning over, Dorian pulled open the drawer to find a container of healing balm inside. He recognized it as being the greasy kind that Mother Giselle had made long ago while they were still in Haven. For their purposes, it would certainly work. _If only the Reverend Mother knew what we were about to do with her salve, she’d probably keel over dead from the scandal..._ “You know, I do appreciate a man who’s always prepared.”

With a lazy smile, Trillian let his hand trail down Dorian’s chest until it came to rest between his legs, gently stroking. “Dorian. Less talk.”

Dorian stopped talking.

 


	2. Dorian Escapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things look different in the morning light...

They hadn’t drawn the curtains the night before, so Dorian woke the next morning in a spill of light entering through the windows. Disoriented and half-asleep, it took him a moment to recognize where he was: in the Inquisitor’s bed. And next to him, naked and still asleep, the beautiful and sexy-as-a-desire-demon leader of the Inquisition.

He sat up gingerly, trying to assess the state of his head. Considering how much he’d had to drink, he didn’t feel too bad.

Except, reflecting over what had happened last night, he didn’t feel good, either. _Kaffas! I fucked the Inquisitor!_ He’d been too drunk to consider the consequences. Only the Maker knew what this would do to their friendship. What had he been thinking? Clearly, despite whatever fling he’d had with his fellow Dalish boy, the Inquisitor preferred women. That alone was a warning sign. And the Inquisitor had even said that it was a bad decision.

He didn’t relish the conversation that would come next. If he were lucky, it would be _Thank you, Dorian, now get out_. As far as he could tell, that would be the best scenario. He wondered if he could get dressed and slip away before the Inquisitor woke up. They could talk about it later. Better yet, they could pretend like it never happened, and go on as before. Granted, running away wasn’t very manly, but he decided that, in this case, he could live with being a coward. Anything was better than the inevitable rejection.

He allowed himself one final look at the Inquisitor, curled up like a cat in the tangled sheets. In sleep, he looked even younger and more innocent than usual. _He has a face I could fall in love with_ , Dorian thought. It was a very dangerous thought. Moving stealthily, he eased himself over to the edge of the bed, then stood, scanning the floor for his discarded clothing.

At that moment, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

“Inquisitor, I –” Cullen began, then stopped short at the sight of Dorian, in all his full naked glory, at the foot of the Inquisitor’s bed. For a moment he stared, then he averted his eyes, sputtering, “Oh, Maker’s breath.”

In the bed, the Inquisitor stirred, sitting up. His face hazy from sleep, his eyes traveled from Cullen to Dorian, then back again. “Commander?”

Cullen stared at a space on the carpet. “Forgive the intrusion. We did say we were going to meet at nine o’clock, did we not?”

Trillian rubbed at his face. “Oh. Yes. We did.”

Cullen cleared his throat, shuffling the papers in his hand. “Perhaps I should come back later.”

“No need,” Dorian chirped as he bent down to scoop up his pants. “I was just leaving.”

Dorian was aware of the Inquisitor’s gaze upon him as he quickly pulled on his clothes. Once dressed, he glanced at the Inquisitor. He felt like he should say something, but Cullen’s presence prevented him.

The Inquisitor gave him a small nod, all business now. “Dorian. We’ll talk later.”

 _Of course we will_ , Dorian thought. “Well. You do know where to find me.”


	3. A Letter from Tevinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana brings Dorian a letter, and leaves him with a warning...

Returning from the baths, Dorian found Leliana sitting at the table in his room.

For all its grandeur, most of Skyhold’s bedrooms were abysmally small. There were a handful of better rooms, but those were reserved for visiting dignitaries and important guests. His own room, like those of most of the Inquisition’s inner circle, could have fit three times in the quarters of the Inquisitor himself. However, he knew he should be grateful. The majority of the travelers who came to Skyhold either stayed in the barracks or in tents scattered about the grounds. He, at least, had been given his own private room. It hadn’t been much to look at when he arrived – dank and dusty – but since then, in the past few weeks in particular, he had made it cozy. Fortunately, the room possessed both a window – below which Dorian had set up a small table and chairs – and a fireplace, whose mantle held an increasing collection of books. And the bed, although small, was draped in the finest Orlesian silks – a gift from a recent ambassador that Josephine, aware of his love of luxury, had kindly passed on to him.

Seeing his uninvited guest, Dorian stopped in the threshold, pushing back the towel he’d draped over his head. He glanced poignantly down at the door latch. “Funny. I was certain that I had locked this.”

Leliana smiled, all cat with cream. “I hope you don’t mind, Dorian.” She reached out a hand, her fingers brushing over an envelope that sat on the table. “A letter came for you. From Tevinter. I thought I would deliver it myself.”

Dorian considered her for a moment. If she had come to finally stab him in the back, she would have taken a more subtle approach. Tossing the towel on the bed, he closed the door. “And what does it say?”

Again the knowing smile. “You believe I read all your letters?”

“My dear spymaster, I’d be most surprised if you didn’t.”

Leliana’s fingers tapped once, twice, on the letter, and then she pushed it towards him. “In that case, let me assure you that I haven’t read this.”

“But you’re curious about what it says.”

“I am.”

Dorian stepped forward to pick up the letter. There was no seal, but he recognized the handwriting of his father’s scribe. Opening it, he scanned the letter quickly, only slowing when he reached the following passage.

_...as for the matter of the missing apostate you inquired of, there may be a way of contacting him using magic through the Fade. If you wish to pursue the matter, you should seek out an altus named Orion Tarvel, who is currently residing in Val Royeaux. I have already taken the liberty of writing to Tarvel to explain the situation, so he shall be expecting you._

Having finished the letter, Dorian folded it up carefully and returned it to the envelope.

Leliana looked up at him expectantly.

“It’s from my father,” Dorian revealed.

“I gathered as much.”

“I suppose you’re not going to leave until I tell you everything.”

“Unless you have something to hide from the Inquisition, then there should be no reason to not tell me.”

“So suspicious!” Dorian retorted. “Since you must know, I wrote to my father to ask for assistance in locating Solas. In his letter, he says there might be a way.”

Leliana looked thoughtful. “You already know that I have my best spies looking for him. And they have found nothing. How do you propose to succeed where they have failed?”

Dorian smiled. “With magic, of course.”

“Ah. Of course.” Leliana rose from her chair, adjusting her cowl. “If you don’t mind my asking... I know you bore no great love for Solas. So why would you go to all this trouble to have him found?”

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, considering his answer. Leliana was a useful ally. Scary, but useful. There was no reason to hide anything from her. Assuming that hiding things from Leliana was even possible. “Because the Inquisitor wants him found,” he said. “Ever since he regained the Pavus birthright for me, I’ve been in his debt. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to repay the Inquisitor who has everything? Finding Solas, at least, may be something I can do.”

Leliana nodded approvingly. “Then I wish you luck.”

“Thank you.”

Leliana moved past him. At the door, however, she stopped, turning to look at him. “By the way, there has been some talk amongst the servants. It seems that you were noticed coming out of the Inquisitor’s quarters this morning.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. Scarcely more than two hours had passed since he’d taken his leave. “That didn’t take long,” he snapped. “And what of it?”

Leliana half-shrugged. “I’m not judging you, Dorian. I imagine that you are aware that the Inquisitor is no longer with Cassandra. But this is hardly common knowledge. If you are involved with the Inquisitor, of course it is going to set tongues wagging. And not in a good way.”

It was like being in Tevinter all over again. Dorian felt a surge of aggravation. “So, then. What they’re saying is that I’m the evil Tevinter magister who’s seduced the Inquisitor out from under the next Divine. Lovely.”

“Not yet. But that is what people will think if you pursue this.”

Dorian didn’t say that there was nothing to pursue, that it had only been a drunken folly, and that he was not “involved” with the Inquisitor. That would only make it sound... seedy. “You would think that helping defeat Corypheus would have been enough to change people’s opinion of me.”

“Some, of course. Of those you know you. But not everyone knows that you’re a good man.”

Dorian felt some of his aggravation slip away. He sighed. “Well. Thank you for that,” he said. “I’ll keep your warning in mind.”

Leliana nodded once more, then slipped out the door, shutting it behind her.

_Kaffas!_


	4. Restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeper Hawen sends a request for help to the Inquisition.

After Dorian had slunk out, while the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces pretended to study the maps on the desk with rapt interest, the Inquisitor rose and dressed before joining him. A pull on a bell rope brought a servant, who was sent to fetch tea and breakfast.

Despite Cullen’s initial embarrassment, the Inquisitor was able to quickly set him at ease by asking a few succinct questions about his soldiers and their movements. By the end of Cullen’s lengthy report, the breakfast tray had arrived, and the Inquisitor munched thoughtfully on his toast as Cullen discussed the final matter of interest.

“We’ve had word from Keeper Hawen. It turns out that the clan has been having some trouble with bandits. They’ve requested our help.” Cullen shifted his weight, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword. “It would be easy enough to send in some of our men to clear out the bandits.”

The Inquisitor reached for his cup of tea, blowing on it before taking a careful sip. It had been a while since he’d seen Keeper Hawen, or any other Dalish, for that matter. Once, Cassandra had asked him if he missed his clan, and he’d replied that home was wherever he was, but, in truth, he did miss not only his people, but the forests full of halla. Sometimes, Skyhold felt like a stone prison to him. It would probably do him some good to get out.

Setting down his tea cup, he met Cullen’s gaze. “No. I’ll see to this personally.” He paused, considering who else had been restless. “Send word to Sera, Varric and Dorian that we will be heading out for the Dirthavaren this afternoon at one o’clock.”

Cullen practically snapped to attention at the order. Old Templar habits clearly died hard. “Inquisitor. It shall be done.”

***

Dorian had just finished packing his travel bag when the boy arrived with a message from the Inquisitor.

He briefly weighed his options as the messenger waited for his reply. He’d been planning on heading to Val Royeaux to meet with this man Tarvel, since, in truth, he had no other pressing matters. Or he could put it off for a day or two and go bandit hunting in the plains with his friends.

He glanced at his magical staff, propped up in a corner of his room next to his bed. It had been so long since he’d used it, it was practically gathering dust. And in his fingers, he felt the familiar itch of longing to let the power flow through him. Like lyrium for a Templar, magic filled a need. And moreover, wasn’t he wishing, just last night, for the opportunity to fight by his beloved Inquisitor’s side again?

It didn’t hurt that they would be traveling in company, which meant that there would be little opportunity for any private – and awkward – conversations about what had happened last night.

The boy scampered off with his reply. With a sigh he realized that he would have to repack his travel bag – the fine clothing he’d packed for Val Royeaux wouldn’t do for fighting bandits in the forest. After all, he knew too well how impossible it was to get grass and blood stains out of silk.


	5. Killing Bandits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After taking care of business, the party heads to the nearest Inquisition camp.

 The bandit screamed horrifically as he burned.

 _Shocking people is one thing_ , Dorian thought. _Setting them on fire is quite another_. One of these days, Dorian was going to ask the Inquisitor why he’d put so much fire in his arsenal of spells. Now, though, beside him, the Inquisitor lifted his staff. Another burst of flame and the bandit collapsed.

Varric holstered his crossbow, then reached up to clasp the Inquisitor’s shoulder. “Well. I think that’s the last of the bandits.”

“Too bad,” Sera said with a crazy giggle. “Killing bandits is _fun.”_

Trillian scanned the battlefield. This was the third of three rumored bandit camps. Unfortunately, there were no survivors to interrogate, so he had to assume that Varric’s assessment was correct. “I should tell Keeper Hawen,” he said. Glancing up at the darkening sky, he added, “Head to camp. I’ll meet you there.”

Dorian slung his staff across his back. “You’re going to travel, at night, through the woods by yourself? Is that wise?”

The Inquisitor turned to him with a smug smile. “I’m Dalish. Remember?”

“Oh,” Dorian said, with his usual amount of sarcasm. “So it’s fine if you come across a pack of wolves, as, apparently, they don’t enjoy the taste of Dalish flesh.”

Varric intervened. “Now, now, Sparkler. He’s a grown Inquisitor and can take care of himself.”

The Inquisitor continued to flash that cocky grin. “Don’t worry, Dorian.” He patted his magical staff. “If there’s one thing wolves fear, it’s fire.”

 _Well_ , Dorian thought. _That might explain the fire._

The trio watched as the Inquisitor slung his own staff over his shoulder as he moved stealthily among the trees, then disappeared among their shadows, before turning in the opposite direction towards the nearest Inquisition camp.

Although the camp wasn’t far, night had fallen by the time they arrived. With a quick spell, Dorian set the campfire ablaze. “Traipsing through the countryside always makes me hungry. Who’s cooking?”

Sera piped up. “I’ll cook!”

“No!” Varric and Dorian shouted simultaneously. Neither one of them had forgotten the great “Inquisition Cookies” debacle a few weeks back.

Sera crossed her arms and pouted. “Fine. But I get that tent in the middle. All to myself. I’m not sharing one with any of you lot.”

“Fine,” Varric said. “Then I’ll take the tent on the right. Sparkler and the Inquisitor can share the last tent.”

Dorian sighed. Loudly. “I’m right here.”

“You always share a tent with the Inquisitor when we’re in the field,” Varric pointed out. “Do you have a problem with it now?”

 _Fasta vass!_ “No, I don’t have a problem with it now,” he huffed. “I just don’t enjoy other people making decisions for me, instead of simply asking for my opinion.”

Sera sniggered. “Since when do people have to _ask_ for your opinions? Seems like you give them freely, even if nobody wants them.”

Amusement glimmered in Varric’s eye. “Buttercup does have a point.”

Dorian growled a curse in Tevene at them. “Just because you both like shooting arrows at things, does not give you the right to play ‘gang up on the Tevinter mage.’”

A grin curled Sera’s lips. “Ooh. ‘The Tevinter mage’. It makes you sound like such a baddie. It makes me want to stick an arrow in _you.”_

“All right!” Varric intervened. “Sparkler – you keep watch. Buttercup – go tend to the horses. I’ll start cooking. And then after, maybe we can play a few rounds of Wicked Grace.”


	6. At Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone in their tent, Dorian is surprised when the Inquisitor suddenly climbs onto his lap. In the morning, Sera has something to say.

In the end, they had followed Varric’s suggestions. They’d even had some fun playing cards. Dorian found that he’d missed the easy camaraderie that came with being with his companions on the road. However, as time passed, he grew increasingly concerned about the Inquisitor’s absence. But he didn’t voice his concern. Instead, when the others decided to turn in for the night, Dorian retired to his own tent.

Lying on his bedroll, in the dark, worrying about the Inquisitor, there was no way he was going to sleep. Dorian questioned his decision to let the Inquisitor go off in the woods on his own. Dorian should have offered to go with him. He should have gone out to look for him hours ago. He should have –

As he was thinking these thoughts, the tent flap opened and the Inquisitor crawled in.

Dorian sat up. His tone was accusatory. “Where have you been? Do you have any idea how long you’ve been gone?”

Crouching before Dorian, Trillian smoothed the tent flap back into place behind him before turning to the Tevinter with a golden smile. “Why? Were you worried about me?”

Without thinking, Dorian snapped, “Of course I was!”

The smile slid off the Inquisitor’s face. “I”m sorry. I... just got to talking with the Keeper. Then the clan invited me to stay for dinner...” He trailed off with a sigh. “I just....”

_Venhedis!_ Now Dorian felt bad. The Inquisitor had obviously been happy, a state which Dorian had managed to dash with a few ill-chosen words. He lowered his voice. “You miss being with your people.”

The Inquisitor glanced away, staring at nothing, the internal debate written all across his face. Then he turned back to Dorian. “And you miss Tevinter.”

“Despite all its problems and my complaints, I do miss my homeland,” he admitted.

“Then you understand how I feel.”

Dorian considered him for a moment. “I suppose so,” he said slowly. “Though I imagine it must be different for you. Being Dalish, I mean, surrounded by... what is it you call us?”

A flicker of a smile. “ _Shemlen._ ”

“Yes, among all of us _Shemlen._ ”

“Not all _Shemlen_ are as bad as the Dalish would believe.”

Dorian smiled softly. “Present company included, I hope.”

The Inquisitor cocked his head, studying Dorian for a moment. And then he moved closer.

Dorian’s heart skipped a beat as the Inquisitor shifted, moving into his lap, straddling Dorian’s legs as his hands fell upon Dorian’s shoulders. Whatever Dorian had been about to say vanished like smoke as the Inquisitor leaned down to kiss him.

How easy it was to get lost in the Inquisitor’s kiss. Of their own volition, his hands slid up around the Inquisitor’s back, pulling him closer. He was breathless by the time Trillian broke contact, leaning back, his face all mist, and his hands slipped to his shirt, sweeping it over his head in a graceful gesture before tossing it aside. And then the Inquisitor, mouth seeking, was in his arms again.

Whatever Dorian had been expecting, it wasn’t _this._ Whatever this was. Pessimistic by nature, he hadn’t imagined that the Inquisitor actually wanted him. He’d convinced himself that last night had been no more than a drunken fumble between two lonely men.

Except that they were both sober now. And the Inquisitor did not fumble. Instead, Trillian took charge of the situation, first by expertly and gracefully peeling Dorian out of his clothes, and then by lavishing him with such kisses and caresses until Dorian, who usually wasn’t very vocal during sex, had to choke back the sounds rising in his throat.

As the Inquisitor took Dorian into his mouth, teasing him with his tongue, Dorian decided he would have to revise his initial impression of the Inquisitor’s past experience with other men. It was almost unbearably wonderful. And then, when the Inquisitor hummed, it sent a sensation like electrical fire through Dorian’s body, wresting a cry from his lips, and involuntarily, he bucked.

He’d bucked the Inquisitor off him. “Sorry...” he muttered.

The look of surprise on Trillian’s face turned to one of amusement. Climbing back over to straddle Dorian’s hips, he placed his fingers gently over Dorian’s lips. “Dorian. Hush.”

Dorian cocked one eyebrow, heavily distracted by the feel of the Inquisitor’s other hand, oil-slicked, moving over his cock. He spoke through the Inquisitor’s fingers. “But I like to talk.”

A flicker of a smile as he withdrew his hand from Dorian’s face. “I know you do,” he murmured. “But that’s not what I meant. I just don’t want the others to hear us.”

Somehow, he’d forgotten about the others. In particular Sera, whose tent was right next to theirs, so close it was nearly touching. “Ah. Fair point.”

Green eyes glittered like veilfire. “Do you want to continue?”

“Is that a rhetorical question? If not, then the answer is: I couldn’t possibly think of anything I wanted more.”

“Good.”

Dorian inhaled sharply as the Inquisitor shifted over him, guiding Dorian inside, then slowly eased himself down. Resisting all instinct to thrust, Dorian lay still, allowing the Inquisitor time to accommodate him. His patience was eventually rewarded as the Inquisitor began to move over him in a slow, steady rhythm.

Dorian placed his hands on the Inquisitor’s hips, savoring the position he was in, vaguely grateful that the Inquisitor wasn’t a large man. The view was glorious. He could see the pleasure on the Inquisitor’s beautiful face, all of the Inquisitor’s slender body, his elegant cock, hard and straining against the air, and his own cock as it moved in and out. So glorious that Dorian wasn’t certain, even though they’d just barely started fucking, how much longer he could last.

Adjusting the angle of his hips brought a gasp of pleasure to the Inquisitor’s lips. Between pants, he murmured, “Yes... there... oh, Dorian...”

Keeping his hips at that angle, Dorian tightened his grip on the Inquisitor’s hips, thrusting up to meet him. With each thrust, the Inquisitor gasped softly, his expression becoming more hazy. _Maker’s balls, he is beautiful._ Dorian couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this much pleasure with a man. Sex with Iron Bull had been like a candle flame. Sex with the Inquisitor was like an inferno.

Dorian slipped one hand down, wrapping it around the Inquisitor’s cock, and stroking it in time with their thrusts. It took some concentration, which was enough to keep his impending orgasm at bay. At least until the Inquisitor shuddered and came, and with the resulting spasms, Dorian lost the last scrap of resistance he’d been trying so desperately to keep.

For a moment, his head was in the clouds, reality so far away. He was only vaguely aware of the sound of their breath as it slowed, of the pressure of the Inquisitor’s hands against his chest, and the coolness of the air against his naked skin.

Then the Inquisitor carefully climbed off him, dropping down beside him on the bedroll, throwing one arm over his head.

Dorian sat up. Some of the Inquisitor’s semen had gotten on his hand, and he considered it briefly before wiping it off with the edge of the blanket. “You know, with you being an elf, I thought it would sparkle.”

The Inquisitor laughed. “Well, I am a mage. I’ll make it sparkle for you next time.”

Dorian glanced down at him. “Will there be a next time?”

At Dorian’s tone, the Inquisitor became serious. He sat up, meeting Dorian’s gaze. “Why shouldn’t there be?” he asked. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“What I wanted...” Dorian repeated. He heaved a sigh of exasperation. “I just...”

The Inquisitor looked at him, puzzled.

“Never mind.”

The Inquisitor frowned. “If there’s something wrong, Dorian... you should tell me.”

Dorian rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. He didn’t know how to put it. “I suppose I’m just wondering about where this is going. If it’s just sex you want from me. Not that there’s anything wrong with having a little bit of fun, of course.”

Trillian studied Dorian for a long moment. “I like you, Dorian,” he finally said. “I care about you as a friend. And it turns out that I really like having sex with you. Isn’t that enough?”

_Yes. No. I don’t know._ “And I like you. More than I should.” Dorian paused. Then he sighed. “But if you’re going to break my heart, I’d rather you do it now. Later, it would hurt more.”

There was another long pause. Dreadfully long. “I feel like you’re trying to rush me into something I might not be ready for,” Trillian said. “That’s not fair.”

“Love never is.”

The look of concern on the Inquisitor’s face told Dorian that he’d just made a mistake in using the ‘L” word. _What in all of Thedas is_ wrong _with me?_ The Inquisitor had just admitted that he liked Dorian, that he cared about him, and that he wanted to keep having sex with him. It was more than he could have hoped for, and more than he’d ever had before. It should have been enough. Did he really want to lose this new-found intimacy over semantics?

The Inquisitor regarded him, grim. “Do _you_ want to end this? Because I don’t.”

The answer came quick enough to his tongue. “No, I do not want to end this.” Dorian sighed again. “That was selfish of me. I apologize.”

The Inquisitor’s expression softened. “No, not selfish. Just... honest.”

“Ah, the Inquisitor. Always too kind. Too understanding.” Dorian smiled to soften the jibe. “Too beautiful.”

At this the Inquisitor flustered, coughing to hide his embarrassment. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Dorian flashed his cocky smile. “A fact about which everyone is blissfully aware.” He paused, considering the Inquisitor, still naked beside him. “Since we’re both awake, and done talking... if you’d like, perhaps we could do it again?”

The Inquisitor regarded him with surprise and wonder. “Again? So soon?”

Dorian shifted so that his leg brushed up against Trillian’s. “I should be able to last longer this time.”

The Inquisitor laughed softly. “Show off,” he murmured as Dorian reached for him and they fell into each other’s arms.

***

In the morning, Dorian stumbled out of the tent. It was far too early to be up, considering how little sleep he’d gotten the night before. In the camp, some of the Inquisition’s soldiers milled about. Around the campfire, Varric and Sera sat, drinking coffee. Dorian joined them, reaching for the coffee pot as he ignored Sera, who was staring at him.

Unfortunately, ignoring her didn’t work. “So,” she said, nearly in sing-song. “You and the Inquisitor were at it all night.”

Aggravated, Dorian shot her a glare. “Could you have said that any louder?” he hissed.

Sera obliged him, raising her voice. “I said, ‘So! You and the Inquisitor were at it all night!’”

Heads of the Inquisition soldiers turned. Dorian heaved a sigh of disgust, rubbing at the pain which had suddenly appeared in-between his eyebrows. Then he glanced over at Varric for support. However, the dwarf just rose to feet, dusting off his pants with more concentration than was necessary for the task. “Uh, I think there are some...umm... things... that I should see to.”

Strange how utterly pissed off Dorian felt at seeing Sera’s shit-eating grin. “Do you have any sense of discretion at all?” he snapped. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Discretion?” she asked. “Oh, you mean not blabbing to everyone about your business? Well, maybe you should have thought about that last night before the two of you started with all the ‘Oh! Oh, Dorian! More! Don’t stop! Poke me with that big man thing of yours!’ while other people were trying to sleep, yeah?”

“He did not –!” Dorian began, but then stopped as the Inquisitor stepped out of the tent. He lowered his voice. “Sera, _please_.”

Sera relented. “Oh, all right. You can keep your Inquisition business to yourself, right? I can’t talk about it if I don’t hafta hear it.”

“Fine,” Dorian muttered through gritted teeth. He could only hope that the Inquisitor would remain oblivious to the odd stares that he and Dorian were now fetching from the soldiers.

Leliana, Cullen, Varric, Sera, the servants and now the soldiers all knew that he was fucking the Inquisitor. And in less than two days. Lovely!


	7. Spies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at Skyhold, Leliana reveals some interesting news. And Dorian ignores her implicit warning.

Returning to Val Royeaux, after the muddy trails of the Exalted Plains and the cold isolation of Skyhold, was like returning to civilization. Orlesians and their “game” reminded him so much of Tevinter. It almost made him homesick. However, his business complete, he only tarried two days. He had something better than the game waiting for him back at Skyhold.

Having deposited his traveling bag in his room, Dorian headed up to the rookery. As he’d hoped, Leliana was there at her table. Dorian announced his arrival with, “I don’t know how you put up with these blasted birds, Leliana. Squawking all the time. They rather remind me of the members of the magisterium in Tevinter.”

Straightening, she greeted him with a smile. “They may not be beautiful, but they are most useful.”

“Unlike the magisterium, you mean.”

“I said no such thing.” She turned to look at him more carefully. “Were you successful on your trip to Val Royeaux?”

“Yes,” he revealed, “and no. It turns out there there is indeed a way we may be able to locate Solas, but it would involve the use of a certain kind of crystal. A crystal last seen in the Circle in Kirkwall.”

“And now that there is no Circle in Kirkwall, the crystal you seek has disappeared.”

“Precisely so.”

“So you’ve come to ask me if my spies could be of assistance in finding it.”

Dorian tipped his head. “Of course. You know me too well.”

Leliana gestured at the chair across from her, and Dorian accepted it. “Tell me everything you know about this crystal.”

Dorian recounted everything that Tarvel had told him. As he spoke, Leliana jotted down a few short, cryptic notes on a sheet of parchment on her table. “If you don’t mind,” Dorian added, “I’d prefer if you didn’t let the Inquisitor know about this business. If we fail, I’d prefer to spare him the disappointment. And if we succeed, I’d rather it be a surprise.”

“You can count on my discretion.”

Dorian did not doubt that for one second. “Speaking of the Inquisitor, do you happen to know where he is?”

Leliana paused, regarding him with an unreadable expression. “I do, in fact. He’s in the tavern, talking with Seeker Cassandra. Or should I say, the next Divine?”

He wondered if there was a note a envy in her words. Except it was not a point of conversation he wished to follow. “Cassandra is here?”

“She arrived this morning.”

He did his best to maintain a neutral tone of voice. “Well. If you see him, let him know I’m back, and he can find me in the library.”

“Of course.”

Nodding a brief farewell, Dorian rose and headed towards the stairs. Cassandra was here... _what could that mean?_ Leliana, naturally, had given him no hints about what the answer could be. He knew only that she had only told him of their location so that he could avoid it. However, once down the stairs, he passed through the library and made his way to the tavern.

He told himself that he wasn’t going there to _spy_ on them. No, he only wanted a glimpse of his beloved Inquisitor after being away from him for so long. Certainly there was nothing wrong with that. In fact, he wouldn’t even disturb them for more than a moment. He was dusty from the road, and could claim that he was just passing by, on his way to the baths.

Having entered the tavern, he glanced around but saw no signs of them. He did see some of the Chargers, including Krem, who gave him a polite nod in lieu of a greeting. He was vaguely grateful that Iron Bull was not among them. Seeing Iron Bull since they’d ended the relationship was awkward at best. That knowing leer the Qunari gave him always rankled him. He’d turned out to be another man in a long line of men who’d just used Dorian for sex.

He started up the stairs. Before he reached the top, however, he spotted the Inquisitor. He was sitting at a table across from Cassandra, against the back wall. Deeply involved in their conversation, they hadn’t noticed him. And, he noted with dismay, that they were holding hands across the table, both of the Inquisitor’s resting on top of hers.

 _What a fool I’ve been._ This was the reason why the Inquisitor wasn’t ready for something more with him. Before they noticed him, he slipped quietly, with a heavy heart, back down the stairs.


	8. Jealousy

Somehow, he always knew when it was the Inquisitor coming up the stairs. He had a very light tread. Maybe it was a Dalish thing? Followed by a soft shuffle of boots on stone, and then the inevitable flash of golden hair in Dorian’s peripheral vision, as Dorian pretended to peruse the books on the shelves before him. Although he _was_ relatively certain that he’d left his copy of _Elvhenan: A History of the Dalish_ here in this section of the library’s nook, a subject which had recently become of interest to him. Or perhaps he had left it on the bedside table in his room?

The Inquisitor’s arrival was usually the moment in which Dorian would complain about the state of the Inquisitor’s library. But he kept his complaints to himself this time.

Therefore, it was the Inquisitor who spoke first. “I heard you were back from Val Royeaux.”

“I wonder where you heard that,” Dorian began, but then he remembered. “Oh. Leliana.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

Doria hadn’t given the Inquisitor the entire truth about the purpose of his trip. He’d only said that it involved some arcane research. Which, being a fellow mage, had satisfied the Inquisitor’s curiosity. “Not exactly.”

“That’s a shame.”

Dorian’s fingers stopped in their dance across the shelves, stroking the spine of a particularly heavy tome bearing a title in Antivan. Staring at it, as though the letters would rearrange themselves into something comprehensible, Dorian remarked offhandedly, “I heard that Cassandra was here.”

Beside him, the Inquisitor shifted, trying to catch his eye. “She is,” he said. “She came to see Leliana.”

“So, you haven’t seen her, then?”

The Inquisitor shifted again. Uncomfortably, perhaps? “I have,” he finally admitted.

Airily, with a sidelong glance, Dorian asked, “And are you back together again?”

Trillian frowned. “Why would you ask me that?”

Dorian lowered his hand as he turned to face the Inquisitor. “I don’t know. Perhaps because I saw you in the tavern holding hands? Two beautiful lovebirds!”

Shock widened the Inquisitor’s eyes. Then his expression became one of understanding. With a note of wonder in his voice, he said, “You’re jealous.”

“Is that what I am?” Dorian tossed off, almost aggressively. “I suppose you’re not entirely blind or oblivious, then.”

The Inquisitor frowned again. This time his ears flattened against his head – not a good sign. “We’re not back together... but you can’t expect me to stop having any feelings for her, just like that.”

Dorian turned, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the bookshelf. On the shelves, the books shifted inward from his weight. These were his feelings, damn it, he wasn’t going to pretend that they meant nothing. Silent, he fixed the Inquisitor with a moody, accusatory stare.

The Inquisitor sighed. “I’m with you now, Dorian. Isn’t that what matters? “

Gazing into those beautiful green eyes while hearing those words, Dorian felt like he was melting. Strange how he’d been sick with jealousy only a moment before, but now...

Dorian didn’t know what his expression was doing, but it caused the Inquisitor to smile softly, then close the gap between them. Fingers curled against Dorian’s waist as the Inquisitor kissed him – tenderly, deeply, and with passion. Lost in his kiss, Dorian felt his knees begin to buckle, and only by clinging to the Inquisitor did he manage to keep from dissolving into a puddle on the floor.

So lost, Dorian forgot where they were. At least until the Inquisitor withdrew, and Dorian, breathless, glanced over the Inquisitor’s shoulder to notice Mother Giselle on the other side of the library. Staring directly at them with a look akin to horror.

_Venhedis! And now the fucking Chantry knows, too!_

Pushing the Inquisitor gently away from him, Dorian murmured, “If we’re going to do this, perhaps we might go somewhere more private?”

The Inquisitor smiled, a secretive thing full of promise. He dropped his hands from Dorian’s waist. “It will have to be later, I’m afraid. I’ve a meeting with the Antivan ambassador in a few minutes.”

Dorian smiled back. “Enjoy that,” he said, injecting his usual level of snark into his words. “And try not to get stabbed in the back.”


	9. Cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is enjoying some quiet reading time over dinner. At least until Cassandra sits down across from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite scenes. I just had too much fun writing this.

 Since coming to Skyhold, there had been a series of never-ending renovations. Dorian didn’t know – or care, really – who was in charge of these decisions, though he’d seen plenty of peasants and tradesmen carrying out the work, refugees, mostly, or pilgrims to Skyhold. The renovations had started in the main hall, and had eventually spread out from there. Only recently had the main kitchens – on the other side of Skyhold, near the stables – become fully functional again, and one of the larger rooms near it turned into a refectory. It was here that most of the denizens of Skyhold gathered twice daily for a hot meal.

It was the Inquisitor’s habit, whenever his duties allowed, to eat in the refectory with the people. Sometimes with the soldiers, or the laborers, the sisters, the peasants and, occasionally, his friends. If one could call the Inquisitor’s inner circle and his advisers _friends._ It had always struck Dorian that only he, Varric and Sera – three people who lacked the proper respect for authority – were the only ones who treated the Inquisitor more or less like an equal, and not as the blessed Herald of Andraste.

Dorian, long familiar with the Inquisitor’s habits, arrived at the refectory at the hour he’d normally expect to find Trillian there. The head of golden hair was hard to miss, so just a perfunctory sweep of the room was enough to reveal that Inquisitor had not yet arrived. No doubt his meeting with the Antivan ambassador was running late.

Another quick search revealed neither Cullen nor Varric nor anyone else he would have cared to dine with, so once he had his dinner plate, Dorian selected an unoccupied edge of one of the long, communal-style dining tables. A fork in one hand and a book in the other, he began to eat.

He was halfway through his meal when a plate was set down roughly in front of his. Glancing up, he saw that the person who had just sat down across from him was Cassandra.

_Kaffas!_

She greeted him with her usual, brusque, “Dorian.”

Dorian closed his book and set it aside. There was only one way to play this: cool. “So!” he chirped. “How’s the next Divine?”

Her expression darkened. “Uff,” she grumbled. “You have no idea. The way the clergy goes on with all their politicking. Although they all say that they want to work together, no one is willing to listen to anything that does not promote their own agenda.” She paused. “But, surely, you do not want me to bore you with the workings of the Chantry.”

“On the contrary. Feel free to bore me. Why, it’s been weeks since I’ve been truly bored.”

“No. I’d rather not.” Cassandra considered him, twirling her fork absentmindedly. “I’ve heard a rumor about you. And the Inquisitor.”

Silly of him to imagine, even for a second, that Cassandra didn’t know. By now, _everyone_ in Skyhold knew that he was sleeping with the Inquisitor. “A rumor? You don’t say.”

“You know what I’m talking about, Dorian. Don’t play coy.”

“Oh, you mean _that_ rumor. Would you like me to tell you that it’s not true?”

“I’m only asking because I am concerned about the Inquisitor.”

 _As if_ he’s _the one who would get hurt_ , Dorian thought. Also, he’d always known that Cassandra didn’t exactly approve of the fact that he bedded men. With venom, he snapped, “Are you sure it’s not because I picked up your sloppy seconds?”

Cassandra made a face of distaste. “Must you be so vulgar?”

“But I enjoy it so,” he said. It wasn’t really any of her damn business, but, for some reason, he wanted to see her reaction. He wanted her to know. “Much like I’ve been enjoying the Inquisitor’s company.”

“So, it is true, then.”

Dorian was almost disappointed by her reaction. Then again, Cassandra had never been overly expressive when it came to emotions.“Why didn’t you just ask him?”

“Because I only heard of... your relationship with him after we’d already talked.”

Dorian bristled at the unspoken disapproval. “I wouldn’t call it a relationship. It’s mostly just sex. Hot, steamy sex the way only two men can have it.”

Again, Cassandra’s face twisted in distaste.“Ugh... are you trying to antagonize me?” She paused, narrowing her eyes at him. “Or are you just worried that I’ve come here to steal him away from you?”

Dorian stopped to actually consider that.

“Well?”

Frosty, Dorian stared at her, clenching his hands beneath the table to keep them still. “Have you, then? Do you want him back?”

“What I want doesn’t matter. Have you ever heard of a Divine with a husband? A lover? That is a part of my life I must negate if I am to serve.”

Dorian felt a twang of pity for her. Until he remembered that she had chosen the Chantry over the Inquisition. “I see.”

Cassandra sighed. “I only asked you, Dorian, because I do still care about him. I want him to be happy. If you can make him happy... then, I will accept that. But if you hurt him... I will hunt you down and make you pay.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up,” Dorian said with mock cheerfulness. “Good to know where we all stand on this.”

Cassandra’s gaze lingered on him for a moment. She looked down at her plate, as if just remembering it was there, before glancing back at him. “I will say, I was... surprised.”

“Is it that surprising?”

Cassandra considered. “I suppose not. You aren’t the first man he’s been involved with.”

“I’m surprised he told you about that. Not everyone is so understanding.”

“Yes, he told me about Adran. I assume he told you, as well.”

 _Ah, a name for the Dalish boy._ “Not in any great detail, mind you. It’s generally considered bad form to talk about old lovers.”

“A sad story, really.”

“Oh? And what, exactly, did he tell _you_ about it?”

“Not much. Just that Adran was also a mage, and his first love. And when Trillian was selected as First, Adran was sent to another clan who needed a mage, as is their custom. And that they haven’t seen each other since.”

 _Trillian_. Not _The Inquisitor._ It was strange to hear him referred to by his actual name. It was always “Inquisitor” this, or “Herald” that, or just “Your Worship.” All these titles that put him at a distance from everyone around him. Dorian wondered how that must feel. And he realized that he himself had never called his lover by his actual name. Something he intended to remedy. And soon.

He placed his utensils across his plate, rising from the table. “It’s been delightful seeing you again,” he said. “But I should go.”

Cassandra considered him briefly for a moment. “Good-bye, Dorian.”


	10. Pillow Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian visits the Inquisitor in his quarters. Followed by a rather silly conversation.

Later, Dorian climbed the stairs to the Inquisitor’s quarters. Uninvited, but, he assumed, not unwelcome. As he reached the landing, the Inquisitor, at his desk, turned in his chair, looking at Dorian expectantly.

In the middle of the room, Dorian began slowly undressing. “Tonight,” he announced, “I’m going to give you all the pleasure you can handle.”

The Inquisitor’s eyes lit up. “Are you, now?” he asked softly.

Dorian smiled. “It’s the least I can do.”

***

“Really? You’ve never wondered?”

In the aftermath of tangled sheets, the Inquisitor lay on his back. By his side, propped up on one elbow, Dorian lay, gazing down at him as his fingers lazily traced invisible patterns across the Inquisitor’s chest. “All right, then. Since _you_ apparently have given this some thought, what do you think?”

Dorian issued his challenge. “Name someone.”

“All right. What do you think Sera is like in bed?”

“Lots of bouncing. And bosoms. _Way_ too many bosoms.”

“Josephine?”

“Ha! Virgin.”

“Cullen.”

“Too serious... but precise.” Dorian pondered for a moment. “Tell me – have you ever wondered what Cullen looks like naked?’

“Have you?”

Dorian’s sharp look suggested that the Inquisitor couldn’t be serious.

“Leliana.”

“Ah, back in her bard days, I imagine she probably sizzled. Now, though... no, I just can’t picture it.”

“Varric.”

Dorian mimed stroking a crossbow. “Oh, Bianca.”

Trillian laughed. “Vivienne.”

“The question isn’t what is she like in bed, it’s where does she dispose of her lovers’ bodies when she’s finished with them.”

“Oof. How about Cole?”

“Immensely forgettable.”

Trillian laughed again. “Morrigan.”

“The sex might be mediocre, but you do end up with a weird darkspawn baby.”

Trillian choked on his laugh this time. “Solas.”

Dorian rolled his eyes.

“All right, then. Blackwall.”

Dorian roughened his voice in a fair impression of Blackwall. “ Grey Wardens do it better... unfortunately for you, I’m not really a Grey Warden.”

“Scout Harding.”

Dorian smiled saucily. “You can scout her hinterlands, but you’d need to take the Western approach.”

“Krem.”

“Surprise!”

The Inquisitor burst out laughing. “I think that one’s the most accurate.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Dorian smiled at his own wit. “Anyone else?”

“Iron Bull.”

The hand that had been lightly gliding over the Inquisitor’s skin paused in its trajectory. “Are you really asking me or would you prefer me to say something clever?”

“You don’t have to talk about it, Dorian.”

“Well, if you must know...” Dorian said. “I’ll spare you the gory details, but, the first time, we’d been drinking. And he followed me back to my room. Once there, he ripped off my robes and took me against the wall.”

Dismay tinged the Inquisitor’s expression. “Dorian!”

“Ah, don’t get me wrong. I provoked him. Goaded him into it, even. It’s not like I didn’t know what would happen. I thought we were all going to die fighting Corypheus, so... why not? It was one way to remind myself that I was still alive.”

Silent, the Inquisitor stared at him. He didn’t seem convinced.

Dorian sighed. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that.”

Trillian studied him for a moment. “Is that what you prefer? You like it... rough?”

Dorian sat up, staring down at him with an intense seriousness. “Believe me – no.”

Trillian’s eyes roamed his face, seeking. Then he said, “We don’t need the Chargers anymore. We could let them go.”

This gave Dorian pause. That the Inquisitor would offer – for his sake – to fire Iron Bull and his company. “That isn’t necessary. It’s a little embarrassing, yes, but you can’t just dismiss him because it would make me more... comfortable.”

The Inquisitor gave a slight nod. “If you say so.”

Dorian put on a light smile, one intended to reassure. “Did we forget anyone on that list?”

The Inquisitor became thoughtful. Then his green eyes slid over to meet Dorian’s. “We did forget one. The Inquisitor.”

Dorian’s smile blossomed into something real. “Wonderful,” he said.


	11. Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian becomes upset, but the Inquisitor knows how to distract him.

Normally, Dorian enjoyed being the center of attention, but in the days following his return from Val Royeaux, he did not relish the _type_ of attention he and the Inquisitor were attracting. Like the Orlesian court, Skyhold had become a hotbed of gossip. The fact that Cassandra had returned only fueled the rumors.

The Inquisitor was loved, Dorian less so. Thus, the brunt of the disapproval was directed at him.

Dorian could, of course, ignore hushed whispers or disapproving glances. What he couldn’t ignore was Mother Giselle, standing in his library, questioning his motives and attempting to shame him into breaking off his relationship with the Inquisitor. Dorian couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so furious, and after he’d dismissed her with a few choice scathing remarks, he spent a good ten minutes ranting about it to the Inquisitor. Only at the end of his diatribe did he notice the look of alarm on Trillian’s face.

Dorian drew a deep breath in an attempt to force himself into calmness. “Forgive me,” he said. “It’s just... the idiocy!”

The Inquisitor blinked, then smiled wryly. “As long as you’re not planning on blowing up the Chantry, it’s fine.”

“Funny. You say that like no mage has ever blown up the Chantry before.”

The Inquisitor became thoughtful. “Obviously I can’t expel the Chantry presence from Skyhold,” he said diplomatically. “However, I have been meaning to show you something that might distract you.”

Dorian gave him a saucy grin. “If it’s what you keep in your battlemage armor, then, yes, I’d find that immensely distracting.”

The Inquisitor returned the grin. “Later,” he said. “Now – come on.”

Curious, Dorian trailed along at the Inquisitor’s side as they made their way outside, through the courtyard, and down towards the refectory. As they walked, it occurred to Dorian that this was their first public appearance together since the rumors had started flying. And, as he expected, they received a fair share of curious glances from everyone they passed. However, this time, the looks didn’t bother him. Instead, he felt proud to be seen at the Inquisitor’s side.

It also occurred to him that this was the first time he’d been in public with a lover who was not ashamed to bear that title. One who was not desperate to keep it secret.

Across from the stables, Trillian opened a door and ushered Dorian through the kitchens past the tittering cooks, down a corridor, up some stairs and through another door into a large room that was lined with shelves.

Full of books.

Dorian’s gaze roamed the room in wonder before finally falling to the Inquisitor’s face. The green eyes twinkled with glee.

“I found this place a few weeks ago, but it took a while for the servants to clean up the dust and clear out the spiders,” he explained, looking up at Dorian expectantly. “Well? What do you think?”

Dorian assessed the room. It wasn’t a particularly large library, and its holdings probably equaled those of the old library. However, in its favor was not the number of books, but the fact that they were new to Dorian. Stepping forward, he began scanning the nearest shelves. After a cursory examination, he glanced over his shoulder at the Inquisitor. “There is a large number of books here on the occult.”

Trillian regarded him quizzically. “Is that...good?”

“It’s fascinating,” Dorian replied, his attention already drawn back to the shelves. “It makes me wonder what else I might find.”

He heard the Inquisitor chuckle softly behind him. “Then I’ll leave you to the library.”


	12. The Artifact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian comes to the Inquisitor's quarters to show him something, but becomes distracted...

Dorian was slowly, but steadily, becoming an expert on the Inquisitor’s preferences in bed.

He knew, for example, that Trillian had extremely sensitive ears, and that by licking them, especially the pointy part, Dorian could cause the elf to literally shiver with delight. Coupling that, like he was doing now, with his hand busy working in the Inquisitor’s pants, nearly reduced the Inquisitor to a quivering wreck.

He knew, too, from the rush of his quickening breath, and the soft sounds he was making, how close the Inquisitor was to an orgasm. And how, at any moment, the Inquisitor was going to moan his name.

Dorian loved it when the Inquisitor moaned his name. Impatient for it, he swirled his tongue into the crevice of the Inquisitor’s ear, as he manifested a bit of magic – a warm, pulsating fluid – and let it vibrate up and down along with his hand.

The Inquisitor’s fingers dug deeper into Dorian’s shoulders. “Uh – ah – Dorian,” he panted. “What are you – uh – oh, Creators.”

Dorian extended the magic to envelop the Inquisitor’s entire shaft, ramping up the speed of the vibration. Dorian had experimented on himself with this sort of solitary amusement before, though he’d never tried it on another man. He was rewarded with a sharp gasp, and then the Inquisitor’s body, pinned beneath Dorian’s against the desk, stiffened as his cock throbbed suddenly in Dorian’s hand.

Dorian waited until the Inquisitor’s breathing slowed before gently releasing him. “Well, that was quick. Like a schoolboy.”

A bit dazed, a little sheepish, the Inquisitor shyly met his eyes. “Please tell me you don’t know about schoolboys from experience.”

Dorian smiled softly. “Only in that I used to be one.”

The Inquisitor adjusted himself back into his pants as Dorian wiped off his hand with a handkerchief he’d withdrawn from his pocket. Catching the Inquisitor’s movement, Dorian said teasingly, “Putting it away already? Perhaps I wasn’t done with it.”

Trillian smiled coyly. “Your turn.”

“How egalitarian of you.”

The Inquisitor slid his arms around Dorian’s waist, kissing him once, slowly and sensually – a promise of things to come. The main thing to come being one Tevinter mage. Parting, the Inquisitor looked at him invitingly. “Come to bed, Dorian.”

“Tempting,” Dorian murmured, letting his fingers trail down the Inquisitor’s spine. “But not quite yet. I actually came here to show you something. Somehow, I became... distracted.”

“Am I that distracting?”

Dorian marveled at the Inquisitor. Did he truly not know? Was he blissfully unaware of his own charms? The man who had done the seemingly impossible feat of seducing the Ice Queen, Cassandra Pentaghast? Ay Skyhold, there were a lot of women who’d be willing to overlook the fact that the Inquisitor was an elf. And there were even a few straight men who’d overlook the fact that he was male. “You’re rather fetching,” Dorian teased. “By the way, I never did thank you for showing me the library.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Dorian,” he said. “Just show me... this thing you need to show me.”

“So demanding!” Dorian admonished, but was already moving to comply. He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small object wrapped in a swatch of dark blue silk, which he handed to the Inquisitor.

The Inquisitor unwrapped it to reveal a transparent crystal, tinted blue, of hand’s length and roughly rectangular in shape, narrowing at both ends. The Inquisitor stared at it, puzzled. “What is it?”

“It’s like a divining rod. Except that instead of finding water, you can use it to find anything or anyone. But it only works in the Fade.” He ran his finger along the artifact’s surface. “Leliana has searched all of Thedas for Solas and has found no trace of him. Given Solas’ habits, I’m of the opinion that it’s more likely that we’d be able to find him in the Fade, and this,” he tapped the crystal, “is our key.”

The Inquisitor studied the crystal, then looked at Dorian. “You did this for me?”

“Well, I might have made use of some of the Inquisition’s resources to locate the crystal itself,” he admitted. “But, yes. I did it for you.”

The way the Inquisitor beamed at him pleased him greatly.

“So, with your being a rift mage, you must know of a safe way to enter the Fade that doesn’t involve a pile of lyrium or blood magic.”

A smile quirked the corners of Trillian’s lips. “In fact, I do know a spell that will allow us to pass over to the Beyond safely. No lyrium or blood magic required.”

“The Beyond?”

“It’s what we Dalish call the Fade,” Trillian revealed. “We believe it was once the home of our gods.” Pausing, he considered the crystal again. “So. How does this work?”

Dorian slowly rubbed his fist across his chin. “Quite simply. However, the problem is that we need one of Solas’ possessions. The stronger the attachment to him, the better. I’d even settle for a hair, if that bald bastard had had any. Any ideas?”

The Inquisitor became thoughtful. “Actually, there is something that could work... something that Solas imbued with a lot of magic.”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

The Inquisitor smiled. “Cole,” he said.


	13. Into the Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and the Inquisitor travel to the Fade to search for Solas.

Dorian’s eyelids fluttered open. He became aware that he was lying on the ground. Above him, the sky, free of clouds, was painfully blue. All around him, a lush, verdant landscape, old bearded trees and tall grasses, elfroot and brightly-hued embrium. The air was warm and earthy, and in the distance there was the sounds of songbirds and running water.

He sat up. Sitting beside him, wearing his battlemage armor and staring off into the distance, was the Inquisitor. Not that Dorian had ever voiced this opinion, but he’d always found the form-fitting armor quite sexy.

Dorian scanned his surroundings again. Though the place seemed familiar, he didn’t know where they were, or even how they’d gotten here. Which meant either a night of excessive drinking, or magic. Then, in the distance, he spotted a golden halla.

Dorian met the Inquisitor’s eyes. “Why are we in the Dales?” he asked.

Trillian reached under his cloak. “We’re not in the Dales,” he said. “We’re in the Fade.” He withdrew the transparent blue crystal, then touched it to the amulet he wore. As he did so, the crystal glowed to life, casting a thin beam of light to their right. “And Solas is that way.” Standing up, he held out a hand to Dorian. “You really don’t remember?”

Dorian thought. He had a hazy memory of the Inquisitor casting a series of spells on them as they lay, fully dressed for battle, on the Inquisitor’s bed. Spells meant to send them to sleep and then travel to the Fade. And, as Cole had refused to come with them to the Fade, the Inquisitor had brought Cole’s amulet instead.

Dorian accepted the hand and hoisted himself to his feet. “It’s starting to come back to me. A bit blurry around the edges, but...” He shrugged.

The Inquisitor cast a hasty spell, causing the crystal to hover in the air at chest level before him.

“Show off,” Dorian muttered, causing the Inquisitor to laugh.

“Come on.”

Dorian followed as the Inquisitor led them through the Dales. It was the dreamer’s mind that shaped the Fade, yet this was so clearly a creation of the Inquisitor’s. Dorian wondered how it was possible that he was stuck in someone else’s version of the Fade. “You shaped this, didn’t you? We’re seeing the same thing.”

The Inquisitor glanced over his shoulder. “Yes. Solas showed me how.”

“Fascinating. How?”

“It’s a bit hard to explain. There’s no mechanic to it. I just... bend the Fade to my will.”

Dorian pondered. “Could you show any mage how?”

“I doubt it. The Anchor helps. As for how Solas can do it... well, he’s Solas.”

Dorian found that explanation oddly reasonable. “Ah.”

They followed the floating crystal for a little while longer until they arrived at the edge of a clearing. Across the clearing stood a large structure of gray, crumbling stone, overgrown with moss and ivy.

“Elven ruins,” the Inquisitor remarked. “I imagine we’ll find Solas inside.”

Their trip through the Fade had been surprisingly uneventful. “And probably some demons, as well. Demons love old ruins.”

Continuing on behind the floating crystal, they picked their way across the rubble. Passing through the portal, they paused to let their eyes adjust to the dim light as they breathed in the cool, dank air. Moving again, the passed through a series of turns and corridors until they reached a staircase leading down into a large room, empty except for two columns of stone pillars, and a lone figure standing before a mirror.

Even though the figure has his back to them, Dorian easily recognized that lanky body, topped by a bald head with two long, tapering ears. Solas.

As they descended the staircase, Solas turned, regarding them almost quizzically. Once they'd finished their approach, he spoke. “Inquisitor. I see that your travels still bring you to strange places."

“Solas,” the Inquisitor said. “Why did you disappear?”

The elven mage cocked his head, seeming to consider the question. “I had my reasons.”

“You didn’t even say anything. You just _left._ ”

There was hurt in those words. Surprised, Dorian stared at the Inquisitor. When the Inquisitor, focused on Solas, did not meet his eyes, Dorian turned to glare at Solas.

Solas’ expression softened. “My business was done. Corypheus was defeated. The orb was destroyed. My friend, I thought that you would understand why I did not stay, but, if I have disappointed you, I ask for your forgiveness.”

Dorian stopped glaring. Pointless, since Solas wasn’t paying him any attention, At that moment, Dorian’s eye fell upon the mirror.

It reminded him of Morigan’s Eluvian: smooth glass in a large and elaborately carved, free-standing frame. Except that the glass wasn’t dark. And, from where he stood, he could see both the Inquisitor and Solas.

Except that in the mirror Solas wasn’t Solas. He was a demon.

At that moment, the demon took a step to the left, so he was now in-between them.

Grasping wildly for his staff, Dorian shouted in warning. “Trillian!”

Before he could take aim, the demon lashed out. A solid shove to the chest sent Dorian stumbling back. Instead of crashing into the mirror, however, Dorian passed through the glass.

Then he was in darkness, falling.


	14. Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian passes through the mirror, only to end up in a different place in the Fade, where he faces a new dilemma.

His eyes snapped open and he shot up in the bed.

He was in a an opulent palatial suite with elaborately frescoed walls, thick carpets, fine silk drapes, expensive furniture and gold fixtures. The bed upon which he sat was the largest he’d ever seen, covered with silk pillows and piles of rare hides. The entire room oozed with wealth and decadence.

This time, however, he knew he was in the Fade. In fact, he even recognized the room as the same place where a desire demon had once offered to shower him in gold and silks.

He spoke to the seemingly empty room. “I’ve turned down this offer before. Don’t waste my time trying to peddle rejected wares.”

In the bed, someone shifted. Dorian turned to see the Inquisitor, still in his armor, roll over towards him. His golden hair spilled across the pillows. His green eyes glittered in the sunlight coursing through the windows. “Dorian,” he said, “I’ll always remain by your side.”

Dorian was seventy-five percent convinced that the man next to him was a demon wearing the Inquisitor’s face. Even so, his heart did a strange little flip at hearing those words. “That’s quite a promise.”

“We could go to Tevinter together. With my influence, we could get you a seat in the magisterium. You could change things from the inside.”

It was too good to be true. Dorian was now ninety percent convinced that he was in bed with a demon pretending to be the Inquisitor. Unfortunately, the other ten percent entertained the notion that it really was the Inquisitor, who had been possessed by a demon. He knew that even Dalish mages were not immune to demonic possession.

As he reached for his staff, Dorian smiled. “You’d hate Tevinter, darling. They’d just see pointy ears and try to slap you in chains.”

He swung the staff around. As he did so, the Inquisitor began to scramble to his feet. But before the Inquisitor could do anything, Dorian let loose with one of his most powerful spells. Between them the air crackled as the lightning bolt flew.

The shock rattled the Inquisitor’s body. Then, limp, he toppled backwards from where he’d been half-crouched at the edge of the bed. His slumping body made a convincingly meaty sound as it hit the floor.

_I just killed the Inquisitor._

Inside of Doiran, that ten percent was screaming. Everything, every assumption he’d just made was hurtled into doubt. Paralyzed by fear, for one brief moment he was convinced that he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life.

He had never been a religious man. But now he prayed: _Maker... please... no._

The body. It wouldn’t be his beloved Inquisitor. It would be a demon corpse, reverted back to its original form. He had to look at it. But he remained unable to move.

Then the room flickered around him like a candle flame in a breeze, and the illusion melted away. Dorian found himself on his knees in the grand room of the Elven ruins where they’d first encountered the demon pretending to be Solas. Before him, the Inquisitor lay, face down on the ground.

His legs shook as he staggered to his feet and rushed the short distance to the body. A sob half-choked his throat as he reached for the Inquisitor, turning him over.

In his arms, Trillian gasped, his eyes opening wide in panic. A flash of relief filled them as he recognized Dorian. “Damn it,” Trillian muttered. “I fucking _hate_ demons.”

Dorian resisted the urge to pull him close and weep with relief into his golden hair. “Are you all right?” he asked. His voice was surprisingly steady. “Other than hating demons, I mean.”

“I am,” he said, moving to sit up. “Are you?”

Dorian helped him. “I’m fine. Though I’ve had my fill of the Fade for the time being. Can we go back to Skyhold now?”

The Inquisitor nodded. Then he leaned closer to Dorian, as though he were about to kiss him, except that his eyes were wide open. When their noses touched, the Inquisitor whispered two magic-imbued words.

“Wake up.”


	15. Cole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian does his best to avoid the Inquisitor, but without success. And Cole does what Cole does best.

Dorian managed to avoid the Inquisitor for three days after their return from the Fade.

He’d taken to dining in the refectory early. At night, he chose to read in his room instead of frequenting the tavern. And he stayed away from both libraries. At least until necessity sent him to pick out some new reading material on the fourth day.

He’d gone to the library near the stables and found a book without incident. On his way back to his room, however, as he reached the first set of stairs, he encountered the Inquisitor coming down.

They both stopped. Standing a few stairs up, the Inquisitor looked down at him. “Dorian.”

Dorian forced a smile. “Always a sight for sore eyes.”

The Inquisitor shifted, settling one hand on the railing, smiling thinly. “You haven’t come to see me in a while.”

Dorian cringed at the concern that had crept into Trillian’s voice. Since the Fade, Dorian hadn’t been able to face the Inquisitor. And he couldn’t just tell him why. “I’ve been busy.”

The Inquisitor’s look was skeptical. He shifted again, clearly struggling with whatever he was about to say.

And then a voice spoke nearby, a mumbling sort of whisper: Cole, perched like a crow on the railing. “He’s so near. Yet so far. How can he be so beautiful? Falling through the dark. Fear of losing him hurts, sharp as an assassin’s knife. Why can’t I tell him I love him? Guilt. Shame bright like quicksilver. I thought I killed him in the Fade.”

The Inquisitor, who had been focused on Cole, now swung his gaze over to Dorian, with a look of alarm on his face.

_Fasta vass! Fucking Cole!_

Dorian whipped around to face the rogue. “Cole! What have I told you about wandering around in my thoughts?”

Cole dipped his head, causing the brim of his hat to obscure his face. “You said you didn’t like it. But your thoughts were so loud. It’s as if they were _screaming_ at me.”

Dorian cursed under his breath. Although it would have given him great satisfaction, setting Cole on fire was not allowed. He dared a quick glance to the Inquisitor, who looked like someone he trusted had just slapped him with a sword. “Then I’ll take my thoughts elsewhere,” Dorian snapped, and headed up the stairs, swerving to sidestep the Inquisitor.

The Inquisitor didn’t try to stop him.


	16. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor and Dorian talk about what happened in the Fade and Cole's revelation.

Later that evening there was a knock on Dorian’s door. Opening it, he wasn’t entirely surprised to see the Inquisitor, who held up a bottle of wine for his inspection. Dorian recognized it as being one of the finer vintages from the tavern, and he nodded approvingly as he accepted the bottle.

“I brought a peace offering. Just in case...”

“In case we were at war?” Dorian quipped. “That’s what peace offerings are usually for. Just think of all the trouble we could have avoided if we’d just sent a cask of Red Dragon’s Breath to Corypheus _before_ he destroyed Haven.”

The Inquisitor smiled thinly. “May I come in?”

Dorian stepped aside, granting the Inquisitor entry. This was the first time that Trillian had visited his room, so Dorian hung back as the Inquisitor studied his surroundings. While the Inquisitor ‘s gaze swept over the books on his mantle, Dorian spied two cups on the table. Picking them up, he determined that they were clean enough, and poured the wine. When the Inquisitor turned, at Dorian’s suggestion, they sat down across from each other at the table.

The Inquisitor took a long, slow sip of wine before he spoke. “Can I ask you about what happened in the Fade?”

Dorian sighed. He’d known he couldn’t evade this conversation forever. Briefly he described falling through the mirror, finding himself in that familiar room, and attacking the demon disguised as Trillian.

“And...?”

“When I killed that demon, I wasn’t entirely sure if it were really a demon, or if it were actually you. If I had been responsible for your death...” Dorian’s breath hitched. “I’d never be able to forgive myself.”

The Inquisitor was silent, swallowing Dorian’s passionate outburst. Then he sighed. “The demon twisted your mind,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better! What if the demon had tricked me into actually killing you?”

The Inquisitor fingered his wine glass. “You’re a necromancer, Dorian. You could always just bring me back from the dead.”

Despite himself, Dorian laughed. “Unfortunate that it doesn’t actually work that way.”

They drank.

Dorian leaned back in his chair, both hands wrapped around his cup. “Of course, we shouldn’t neglect to mention that all of this was my idea. A glorious failure!”

“But it _should_ have worked. We did everything right.”

“Magic does work differently in the Fade... or not at all.”

“True.”

Again they drank. Dorian reached for the bottle. As he refilled the Inquisitor’s cup, he asked, “What did your demon offer you?”

“Power,” he said. “The power to free all the elves from the alienages and restore my people to their former glory.”

“All the elves?” Dorian asked. “I thought you Dalish didn’t care about anyone outside your clan.” He smiled to soften the taunt, adding, “But you’re not like other Dalish, are you?”

The Inquisitor gave a lilting shrug. “The Dalish are isolated and they keep themselves insulated. I’ve seen enough of the world to understand how things work outside the clan.”

“Hmm. Now I’m curious,” Dorian mused. “I would like to meet this clan of yours.”

The Inquisitor became silent as he stared down into his wine cup. As he did so, his ears lowered, the tips drooping down slightly. Dorian had never seen that gesture before and didn’t know what it meant. “My clan, they wouldn’t approve of... us.”

“Because we’re both men,” Dorian guessed. “How utterly original!”

The Inquisitor shook his head. “That’s not the reason. It’s because you’re not an elf... specifically because you’re not Dalish.”

“Dalish elves can’t dally with humans?”

“It’s strictly forbidden. Punishment is usually exile.”

This gave Dorian pause. He lowered his voice, its tone acquiring a serious edge. “Then you’re risking exile just by being with me?”

The Inquisitor made a loose gesture, turning his hand over in the air. “I think my status as Inquisitor has made the Keeper more... lenient. Not to mention that the Inquisition has aided the clan in the past. But that doesn’t mean we’d be welcome.”

In Dorian’s opinion, not being welcome was not so very different from exile. He didn’t say this. Instead, he considered the weight of the responsibility, and the possible consequences. “I won’t let you risk your clan,” he said quietly, but with conviction. “Not for my sake.”

Green eyes blinked at him. Then narrowed with suspicion. “What are you suggesting? That we stop seeing each other?”

Dorian, silent, cast down his gaze as his fingers tightened around the wine cup in his hand.

The silence stretched on as the Inquisitor waited for his response. Eventually he made a small noise of exasperation. “I can’t believe that’s what you want.”

It was the last thing he wanted. But he was not so selfish that the Inquisitor’s happiness meant less to him than his own. “And what do you really know about what I want?”

The Inquisitor flinched. “What Cole said...”

“Ah. I was wondering when we would get to this. What about it?”

“When he reads someone... he’s never wrong.”

“Which, if you ask me, is creepy. Can we just leave it at that?”

“But he said –”

Dorian cut him off, his words sharp little dagger points. “Whatever question you’re about to ask – don’t.”

The Inquisitor’s ears lowered again, and Dorian wished he knew what that gesture meant. Irritation, perhaps, because the Inquisitor then snapped at him. “There’s nothing wrong with having feelings, Dorian.”

Dorian snapped back. “Oh? I don’t hear _you_ volunteering to talk about _yours._ ”

A flash of annoyance tightened the Inquisitor’s features. Then it smoothed out again, replaced by resignation. He mumbled, “That’s... a fair point.”

Unrelenting, Dorian growled, “Well, then. How _does_ the mighty Inquisitor feel about his Tevinter mage?” When the Inquisitor didn’t respond, Dorian snapped, “Not so easy, is it?”

“No,” the Inquisitor agreed. “Well... fine. I realized... well, when Cole started speaking what was in your mind, I... I thought he was reading mine.”

Dorian froze. _That would mean... no, that can’t be._

The Inquisitor smiled softly. “Speechless, I see.”

Dorian drew a deep breath. Looked at the Inquisitor – so beautiful, so unafraid, so... _sincere._ _Maker help us, he_ does _mean it._ He carefully set his wine cup on the table, trying to process the information. “That... wasn’t what I was expecting.”

The Inquisitor cocked his head. “What did you expect? That I’d just use you?”

“It’s what I’m accustomed to.”

The Inquisitor looked stricken. With a thread of alarm, but mostly pity.

“Don’t make that face,” Dorian admonished him. “You know how things are in Tevinter between two men. It’s allowed, but it’s only accepted if it’s just for pleasure.”

The Inquisitor made a small noise of agreement.

Dorian sighed. “Therefore, I’m afraid that this is new to me. In fact, I’m at a loss for what happens next.”

Trillian set down his own cup. He then rose from his chair to kneel down before Dorian. He placed his hands lightly on Dorian’s thighs, just above his knees, as he met Dorian’s eyes. “If I may, I’d like to suggest that you make love to me.”

Dorian startled. He had done a lot of things with different men, but he’d never called his escapades “making love.” Still, he knew what the Inquisitor meant. Briefly he wondered what it would be like to make love to the Inquisitor, and came to the conclusion that it would be equal parts frightening and wonderful.

He let his fingers trail across one of the tattoos on the Inquisitor’s face and down across his lips. They tingled as the Inquisitor kissed them.

“I think,” Dorian said, “that I can fulfill that request.”


	17. The Iron Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian runs into the Iron Bull, who has something to say.

Late the following morning, Dorian made his way from the Inquisitor’s quarters back to his own room. Although he was tired, there was a lightness to his step as he strolled leisurely through the stronghold, and his thoughts were not on the day ahead. Rather, his thoughts lingered on the night he had just passed with the Inquisitor.

It had been a scene out of one of Varric’s romance series. There had been slow kisses and gentle caresses, and the entire act had been infused with a sweetness that he’d never experienced before. Although he’d let himself be open to it, he hadn’t been disappointed when Trillian took the lead, setting the tone and pace of their lovemaking. Nor had he minded the slow build of anticipation and the open admiration in Trillian’s gaze as he explored Dorian’s body as though it were the first time. No, on second thought, it wasn’t just admiration in Trillian’s gaze, but also love and desire.

Dorian had never expected a man to look at him like that, and now that it had happened, he felt... different. Fulfilled. Happy.

As Dorian turned a corner, he was so distracted by these thoughts that he nearly collided with the body coming the other way. And it took him a moment to recognize the body as belonging to Iron Bull. Bull, who practically filled the entire corridor with his bulk, so there was no easy way to go around him.

_Kaffas!_

They pulled up short.

The Qunari eyed him with something resembling amusement. “Dorian.”

Dorian inhaled sharply. “Bull.”

Bull tilted his head slightly. So tall was he that his right horn nearly touched the ceiling. Dorian tried not to recall how intimidating it had felt to be practically engulfed by the Qunari’s bulk whenever Bull had fucked him. “So,” Bull rumbled in that knowing tone of his, “you and the Inquisitor, eh?”

Dorian grunted. “Well, I’m quite sure that there isn’t a single person left in Skyhold who doesn’t know, so, yes. Me and the Inquisitor.”

Bull quirked an eyebrow. “No need to get touchy. If you can manage to find some happiness in this shit-hole world, then you should grab it by the horns and ride it for all its worth.”

“That’s not quite how I would phrase it, but... I don’t disagree.”

Bull chuckled, then stepped sideways so that his back was to the wall, allowing Dorian room to pass. Dorian was certain that was the end of it, but, as he slipped past, Bull chuckled deep in his throat again, and drawled, “And, oh, yeah... tell the boss I wish him luck.”


	18. The Crystal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some investigation, Dorian and the Inquisitor learn a few things about the crystal.

Perched on the chair opposite him, one of the birds cocked its head, fixing Dorian with its beady black eye as though it had a burning desire to ask him something. Which, incidentally, was not so different from the look that Leliana was giving him. He’d come up to the rookery to inform her that his trip to the Fade with the Inquisitor had been unsuccessful.

“So you did not find Solas,” she surmised. “A pity. Do you have any idea what went wrong?”

“The crystal didn’t work. Of course, magic in the Fade works differently than it does here, but that man Tarvel seemed very confident that it would work, as the crystal was _meant_ to be used exclusively in the Fade.” Dorian paused, stroking his mustache. “At any rate, I’m at a loss.”

Leliana absentmindedly adjusted her cowl, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps you should consider consulting with another mage? If I may, I’d suggest you speak with Morigan. Her esoteric knowledge is quite extensive.”

Dorian considered her suggestion. “Perhaps I shall.”

Leleiana smiled slightly, obviously pleased. Then she cocked her head, reminding him of a bird again. “You know, Dorian, you look different.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, you’re positively glowing,” she said. “I assume that it’s the Inquisitor who is responsible?”

Dorian just smiled.

She seemed pleased again. Under her cool facade, did the Inquisition’s spymaster possess a romantic heart? “The Inquisitor is a good man,” she said. “You’re very lucky.”

Dorian cocked an eyebrow at her. “Weren’t you just trying to warn me off by telling me that people were going to talk?”

She shrugged lightly. “Well, if they’re going to talk, the least you can do is give them something interesting to talk about.”

***

The Inquisitor found Dorian later that evening in the library near the refectory. Somehow, Trillian always managed to scout him out. Dorian imagined him running all over Skyhold just to speak to him, and the idea did not displease him.

After greeting him, the Inquisitor leaned back against the desk, a ghost of a smile hovering around his lips as he gazed at Dorian. It was almost impossibly sweet, and Dorian didn’t know how to react, other than by smiling back and asking, “So, how was your day?”

The Inquisitor shrugged. “Not very interesting, I’m afraid. I met with Cullen this afternoon. We discussed deploying some more of our troops to the Storm Coast to deal with raiders. After that, I met with Josephine to discuss some diplomatic matters.” He smiled wryly. “Did you know that Lady Montabel of Orlais is rumored to possess a sizable collection of animal skeletons?”

“And she keeps them all in the closet, I’m sure,” Dorian quipped. “And then?”

“Ad then I spent the rest of the afternoon on correspondence,” he said. “How was your day?”

“As exciting as yours. Though it may interest you to know that Leliana says you’re a good man.”

The Inquisitor laughed softly. “Well, I’m not, really, I just find it prudent to stay on Leliana’s good side.”

“At any rate, she suggested I consult Morigan about the crystal. Morigan thinks that the crystal is corrupted. Quite possibly, it can be fixed. She wanted to experiment with it for a day or two, then she’ll let me know.”

“Corrupted?” The Inquisitor became thoughtful. “I didn’t sense anything like that. Did you?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean Morigan’s wrong, either. Perhaps she’s more... attuned.” Dorian leaned back against the bookshelf, giving Trillian a sidelong glance. “You know, I’ve always wondered, _amatus_... do you ever regret not drinking at the Well of Sorrows? I mean, all that power? Especially with their being your people?”

Trillian’s ears lowered – _that gesture again!_ \- but this time there was a facial expression to accompany it that made its meaning clear. It was disappointment; Dorian would have to remember to avoid being the cause of it. “They were ancient elves. Not really my people.” His ears perked up. “What else?”

Dorian opted not to note the abrupt change of subject. “Well, I also did some reading. _The History of the Free Marches._ However, I have to say, after only two chapters, that I’ve encountered deserts less dry.”

The Inquisitor smiled in appreciation of his wit. “Anything else?”

Dorian thought about Iron Bull, telling him to wish the Inquisitor luck. _Asshole._ He decided not to relay that message. Instead he said, “I did run into Iron Bull briefly. He asked if you and I were an item.”

“Oh? I assume he had something to say about it.”

“To quote: ‘If you can manage to find some happiness in this shit-hole world, then you should grab it by the horns and ride it for all its worth.’ Unquote.”

“Ah,” the Inquisitor said. Then he shifted, and, at his sides, his hands gripped the edge of the desk as he gave Dorian a curious, questing glance. “Do you want to...?”

“Do I want to what?”

“I mean, I never asked you... I just sort of always assumed... but then when you said Iron Bull had... uh... I...” He trailed off with a sigh of exasperation. “Shit.”

It was so awkward that Dorian felt uncomfortable for him. All he could fathom was that the Inquisitor wanted something, and that something was probably... well, _dirty._ “ _Amatus_ , nothing you say will offend me,” he said gently. “I’m not so easily shocked. So you don’t have to dance around it.”

The Inquisitor grimaced. Then he sighed again. “This would be easier in Dalish. We have words for it. _Jahal_ , which literally means ‘the vessel’ and _shalal’jahal_ , ‘he who fills the vessel.’”

_Oh._ Dorian tried to keep his expression neutral, but his tone was lightly mocking. “Well. I can’t decide if that’s the best or the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

The Inquisitor cleared his throat. “Dorian. Please.”

Dorian casually crossed his arms as he considered the Inquisitor’s uncharacteristically shy demeanor. “Fine,” he said, with no trace of mockery in his tone this time. “Then, is being _shalal’jahal_ something that you want?”

“I’ve never done it before, but... I’m curious what it would be like. With you, I mean.”

Dorian smiled slyly. “So, it’s just _my_ ass that you’d like to inquist? A fine choice. I commend your taste.”

The Inquisitor flustered, his face turning pink. “Since you put it that way... then, yes.”

He’d never even imagined that he’d ever see the confident and occasionally cocky Inquisitor blush. He found it oddly charming, and the fact that he could reduce the Inquisitor to such a state made him feel rather powerful.

As for the Inquisitor’s question, he did not immediately dismiss it out of hand as he’d done with the majority of the men in his past. Instead, he briefly wondered what it would be like to take that role in the Inquisitor’s bed. “I’ll consider your proposal,” he said.

#

Morigan sent for Dorian the next day. She was convinced that the crystal was corrupted, but by no magic that she had ever seen. Her experiments had failed. Returning the crystal to him, she seemed genuinely baffled – no, shocked – by her inability to solve the mystery. Apparently even the knowledge gained from the Well of Sorrows was of no aid. Dorian would have been amused by her humiliation if he hadn’t been so disappointed.

However, his mood turned a few hours later, when a knock came at his door, and he opened it to find the Arcanist, Dagna, brimming over with way too much enthusiasm.

“The Inquisitor said that you have a magical crystal that isn’t working. One that allows you to find things lost in the Fade,” she said. “May I see it?”

Dorian had only told the Inquisitor about Morigan’s lack of success less than an hour ago. What he hadn’t considered – and which the Inquisitor clearly had – was that the Arcanist might be useful. “You wasted no time in coming, then,” he noted, already withdrawing the crystal and handing it to her.

“No, when I heard about it, I had to come right away and – ooh! It’s so pretty.”

Dorian smiled with indulgent amusement as Dagna examined it.

Her wide eyes implored him. “If I could just take it back to the Undercroft, just for a while, so I could study it – would that be all right?”

Dorian thought about how delightful it would be if the bubbly Arcanist succeeded where the smug, all-knowing Morigan had failed. “Certainly. Just let me know if you learn anything.”

Her grin was so large it was a wonder that it didn’t crack her face. “Of course I will! Thank you! I’ll start right away!”

Dorian watched her scamper off down the hall and thought, _No one can ever accuse the Inquisition of being normal._

#

The Inquisitor sat at his desk, reading reports. Though Dalish culture was based on an oral tradition, elves in his clan were taught how to read and write in Elvish. Very few ever learned to read human languages, though, as the Keeper’s First, Trillian had been obligated to learn them. Given the large number of lengthy and boring accounts he had to sift through every few days, he almost regretted his education. If only he’d been a hunter with limited reading skills, then maybe he would have received all his reports orally. Or Josephine would have assigned him a secretary.

Picking up his teacup, he leaned back in his chair, musing. Perhaps it was not too late to request a secretary. Obviously, the person in that position would have access to all of the Inquisition’s sensitive information, and therefore he – or she – would have to be someone Trillian trusted implicitly. He toyed briefly with the idea of assigning Dorian the role He knew that Dorian still wanted to repay him for the return of his birthright, and Trillian would deeply appreciate the help. However, he quickly dismissed the idea – he loved Dorian too much to subject him to the soul-killing tedium of reading reports.

Sipping his tea, he realized that it had already grown cold. It also made him realize how much time had passed, and that Dorian would be coming soon. With a sigh, he set the teacup in its saucer, longed for a glass of wine, and delved back into the reports.

He still hadn’t reached the bottom of the pile when he heard Dorian’s familiar tread upon the stairs. Setting his file back on his desk, he turned fully in his chair to watch Dorian approach.

He moved cat-like, with grace and restraint, as though gliding through the air. Sharp intelligence glimmered in those hazel eyes that changed color depending on his mood or the light. Beneath the perfectly waxed mustache, the curve of his lips was sexy. Creators, he was such a handsome man, and that body – finely muscled like that of a warrior more than of a mage – was perfect. Trillian wasn’t entirely sure what Dorian saw in him – he was small, skinny, knife-eared – but he was grateful for the unexpected happiness that Dorian gave him.

“So,” Dorian announced as he glided towards Trillian. “I’ve just heard from Dagna. She believes that the crystal can be fixed by some special tool belonging to your people. Something called a _valheron._ ”

The Inquisitor rose as Dorian reached him. Almost by habit, his hands fell on Dorian’s waist. “A _valheron_ ,” he said thoughtfully. “We had no such tool in my clan.” He paused. “I could contact Keeper Hawen. If his clan doesn’t have one, he still may be able to tell us who does. I’ll write to him.”

Releasing Dorian, Trillian turned back to his desk, reaching for his quill. He hadn’t even had a chance to uncap the ink when he felt the pressure of Dorian’s body against his back as Dorian pinned him against the desk from behind.

Dorian’s hot breath rolled over his ear. “You don’t have to write to him _now.”_

Trillian suppressed a little shiver of delight. His reaction to Dorian anytime the man was near him was deeply visceral. “Oh?”

Trillian suppressed another shiver as Dorian’s mouth grazed over his neck, leaving a trail of light kisses. “I can think of a few other things that might be more important.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the terribly wonderful thing I’m about to do to you,” Dorian replied, and slid one hand into the Inquisitor’s pants.

The Inquisitor promptly forgot all about the letter.


	19. Val Royeaux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian suggests to the Inquisitor that they take a vacation.

Life at Skyhold did not vary much from day to day, so it was not long before Dorian and the Inquisitor settled into a routine. Most evenings they would dine together in the refectory. If they were both free after dinner, they would sometimes play cards with Varric, or have a drink in the tavern, though most often they would retire to the Inquisitor’s quarters where Dorian would read while the Inquisitor worked at his desk. Then they would go to bed, where usually, after some play, one or both of them would get off.

At some point Dorian realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually slept in his own bed. Though when the Inquisitor suggested that Dorian just move in with him, Dorian opted to keep his room, explaining, to soften the rejection, that he needed to have a space of his own, even if he rarely made use of it.

Then one night, both of them were tired, so when they went to bed, no one got off. Instead, they slept in each other’s arms, all warm breath and soft skin, the Inquisitor’s head resting on Dorian’s shoulder. It was comfortable. _Too_ comfortable, Dorian thought, which prompted him to make the Inquisitor a proposal over breakfast – also part of the routine – the following morning.

“What would you say,” Dorian suggested while smearing a lavish amount of butter on his toast, “if we took a trip, just for a few days, just you and I? It’s been a while since we’ve left Skyhold.”

Trillian’s eyes lit up with interest. “A trip? Where would we go?”

“I was thinking Val Royeaux. The dining is good, there’s always a party somewhere, and, while we’re there, we could do something about that sad collection of rags you call a wardrobe.”

The Inquisitor self-consciously touched the collar of his tunic. “Is there something wrong with how I dress?”

Dorian smiled and said teasingly, “The term ‘hobo apostate’ does come to mind.”

The Inquisitor quirked an eyebrow.”I suppose you think I should dress like you?”

“And why not? I have excellent taste. I’m practically the pinnacle of mage fashion.” His grin grew more sly. “Admit it. You like how I look.”

The Inquisitor gave him an appreciative once over. “To tell the truth, I prefer you without any clothes on at all.”

Dorian’s eyes sparkled. “I hear it’s hot in Val Royeaux this time of year. Too hot to wear anything in the privacy of one’s hotel room.”

The Inquisitor ran his finger thoughtfully along the edge of his teacup. “You know, I haven’t had a vacation since this whole Inquisition business started,” he said. “Let me check with Josephine about my schedule, and we’ll see what she can arrange.”

Two days later, they were in Val Royeaux, guests of a Marquis who took them falconing in the afternoon, then threw a party in the Inquisitor’s honor at his mansion. Over the course of the following two days, they attended another soiree, dined in some of the city’s finest restaurants, sampled a number of Orlesian liquors, and even went shopping. The Inquisitor humored Dorian during this outing, trying on whatever ostentatious article of clothing the Tevinter tossed at him. Finally, Dorian nodded in approval before steering Trillian before a looking glass.

Tight black pants were tucked into tall, black boots. Also black were the silk shirt and jacket, adorned with silver buttons and buckles, high-collared and open at the throat, framing the Inquisitor’s long neck, a high contrast of pale skin and fair hair against the black. The jacket was structured so that his shoulders seemed broader, then tapered fetchingly down to his slim hips. He looked... _good._

“Very sexy,” came Dorian’s approving murmur. “But missing one thing.”

Dorian paid for the outfit, then brought the Inquisitor to a jewelry store where he gave his name to the clerk, who then disappeared behind a curtain. Momentarily she returned with a small box that she placed before them.

Leaning against the counter, Dorian smiled at the Inquisitor. “For you.”

Trillian eyed him curiously before opening the box. Inside, on black velvet, on a chain, a silver pendant in the shape of the Inquisition’s symbol. Surprise danced in his eyes as he turned to Dorian, his voice full of wonder. “You arranged to have this made for me?”

Dorian smiled, then ordered the Inquisitor to lift his hair so that Dorian could fasten the pendant around his neck.

The Inquisitor turned. “Well?”

“You’re perfect.”

The Inquisitor flustered, color rising to his cheeks. “Umm... thank you.”

Making the Inquisitor fluster was one of the highlights of the trip for Dorian. That, and how the Inquisitor showed his appreciation for the gifts in their hotel room later that night. He was already waxing nostalgic by the time they had to return to Skyhold.

Upon their return, they found a letter from Keeper Hawen waiting for them. The Inquisitor wasted no time in opening it. Dorian waited as the Inquisitor read it. Done, he met Dorian’s gaze.

“Keeper Hawen says that there’s another clan, currently camped out in the Hinterlands, that possesses a _valheron._ ”

Dorian swept his fingers through his hair, still annoyingly mussed from the ride. “Well, the Hinterlands are not far,” he said. “And we could also stop at the bookseller’s in Redcliff.”

The Inquisitor laughed softly. “Dorian, you’re obsessed. Do you ever think of anything other than books?”

“Well, since you asked...” Dorian stepped forward with a smile, snaking one hand behind the Inquisitor’s back, the other slowly trailing down to his lover’s belt. “...I am rather obsessed with one other thing.”


	20. Vir Sulevanan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor and his allies aid the Dalish in return for the use of the tool that can repair the crystal.

The Inquisitor spent a day at Skyhold catching up with his advisers, and dealing with only the matters they considered the most crucial. The following morning he and Dorian, along with Varric and Blackwall, rode out to the Hinterlands.

Dorian hung back with the others while the Inquisitor spoke at length to the Keeper. The camp was set up in a clearing, circled by the aravels, behind which pale halla were grazing. It was not very different than the Dalish camp that Dorian had seen in the Exalted Plains. However – perhaps due to his involvement with the Inquisitor – Dorian found himself watching the Dalish with interest, and noting how some of the males of the clan were quite pretty. Though none of them were nearly as pretty as his Inquisitor.

His conversation with the Keeper done, the Inquisitor sashayed towards them, sunlight glinting off his armor and his golden hair. The sheer beauty of him nearly staggered Dorian’s heart. Since the night that the Inquisitor had confessed his love, Dorian’s affections for him had continued to grow, evolving into something meaningful and profound. On some level, he’d always been concerned that the Inquisitor would get himself killed, but now the thought of losing the Inquisitor terrified him.

“The Keeper has agreed to loan me the _valheron_ , if we can successfully complete a task that will benefit the clan,” he revealed.

Varric’s lips quirked up in a wry smile. “You mean you invoked _vir sulevanan_.”

The Inquisitor cocked his head at the dwarf. “Is there anything you don’t know, Varric?”

“Well, I don’t know how Blackwall, who doesn’t have a drop of dwarven blood, managed to grow such an impressive beard.”

“Very funny, dwarf,” Blackwall said, not amused. “Myself, I still haven’t figured out how Dorian manages to get his hair to do that.”

Dorian ignored him. “A task, you say?”

“Some giants have recently moved into their hunting ground,” the Inquisitor said, eyes flicking to Blackwall. He was glad he’d brought the swordsman along, as he’d seen the man take down a giant almost single-handedly in the Western Approach. “Let’s go. The Keeper is sending her First to aid us. He’s waiting for us up by the waterfall.”

The Inquisitor led them up a small path east of the camp. It wasn’t long before they heard the rush of water. A little farther up and the waterfall came into view. Standing nearby was a Dalish elf dressed in the mage robes particular to their kind. As they approached, Dorian couldn’t help but note how pretty he was. No, he was more than pretty, he was beautiful: golden-haired, blue-eyed, fine boned, with perfectly symmetrical features. He could have been the Inquisitor’s brother.

The First turned and, upon seeing them, broke out in a wide smile. “Trillian!”

Surprise crossed over the Inquisitor’s face, quickly replaced by pleasure. The elves embraced briefly, then the Inquisitor stepped back, still smiling. “Adran, I had no idea that you were here.”

The two elves began chatting, but Dorian wasn’t really paying attention to their banter. Instead he was wondering why the First’s name sounded vaguely familiar to him. It took him a moment of searching his memory, but he finally remembered where he’d heard the name before. From Cassandra in the refectory. The Inquisitor’s ex-lover.

Jealousy slashed through him. The Inquisitor’s Dalish boy shouldn’t be here, looking at the Inquisitor with such fondness. And he certainly had no right being so beautiful. Suddenly, Dorian was intensely interested in what they were saying. But he only caught the end of it.

“...we should go on, then,” Adran was saying.

The Inquisitor tossed back his hair. “Lead the way.”

Adran smiled softly. “I know of a shortcut. Allow me.”

Drawing his staff, Adran cast his magic, causing the waterfall to part and reveal a secret passage beneath. The Inquisitor nodded his approval, and Adran led the rest of the party past the waterfall and through the cave.

As they walked, the Inquisitor remained at Adran’s side, chatting all the while. Mostly, Trillian talked about some of the other Dalish of their original clan, whereas Adran talked about his experiences since he’d been sent away. Although the conversation was innocuous, as the others trailed behind them, Dorian simmered in silence.

Eventually, Dorian’s silence drew a comment from Blackwall. “You’re unusually quiet,” he said. “Not that I mind, though. It’s actually quite refreshing.”

Dorian’s look was sour. “It must be nice, never having to deal with people expecting you to be charming all the time.”

Blackwall just smiled at the jibe. “I imagine that it does make things easier, yes. I’m just a soldier for the Inquisition. It’s enough that the Inquisitor points at a monster and tells me to kill it.”

“Well, it looks like you’ll get your chance to do it again. Good for you.”

Blackwall eyed him for a moment, clearly debating on saying something, but instead decided to remain silent.

Exiting the cave, they blinked in the sudden reemergence into sunlight, and continued down the path until they arrived at some ruins. Among the trees and toppled stone, they spotted the first giant.

Blackwell drew his sword. Varric slid a bolt into Bianca. The mages readied their staves.

“Now!” the Inquisitor shouted, and they moved to attack.

They fell into the familiar rhythm of battle. Blackwell rushed boldly forward, hacking at the giant’s knees, while the others attacked from a distance, the mages casting spells, and Varric firing a storm of crossbow bolts. They only ceased in their attack to artfully dodge the boulders that the giant would fling at them, then they renewed their onslaught. Eventually, under their combined damage, the giant toppled over, dead, the impact of his weight reverberating through the ground.

The Inquisitor stopped to ascertain that no one was hurt, and then they were onto the next foe.

Twice more, they fought a giant in the woods. Each battle was more strenuous than the one before, but they managed to defeat the monsters with no significant damage to the party, apart from some bruised ribs that Blackwall sustained from a blow of the third giant’s fist. However, Adran was able to ease his pain with a healing spell.

Straightening, Adran looked to the Inquisitor. “We should return to the Keeper and inform her of our victory.”

Once again, Dorian trailed along behind them with Varric and Blackwall, as they made their way back to the clan. True, the Inquisitor had shown concern for him during the fight, but, other than that, he’d scarcely spared him a glance. Dorian silently stewed as they made their way back to the Dalish camp.

Once at camp, Adran reported to the Keeper that the threat had been eliminated. After expressing her gratitude, the Keeper handed over the _valheron_ , which the Inquisitor carefully stowed away in his backpack. The conversation done, the Keeper gracefully withdrew.

Smiling, Adran placed his hand on the Inquisitor’s arm. “If you’d like, you’d be welcome to spend the night here. We have extra tents. Some arrangements could be made for your friends.”

Trillian glanced at Dorian briefly before returning his gaze to the First. “Your offer is kind, but we’ve already made arrangements to spend the night in Redcliff.”


	21. Redcliff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian admits that he's been considering the Inquisitor's proposal...

Dorian continued to simmer on the ride to Redcliff, then through dinner at the tavern, where Varric and Blackwall drank too many flagons of ale, and Varric encouraged Blackwall to recount some of his adventures during his time as a Grey Warden. Giving Blackwall the opportunity to atone for his deception spoke a great deal about the Inquisitor’s kind nature; Dorian would not have been so forgiving. Not that he was completely silent, but his replies to any questions to him were perfunctory at best. Then, once they’d finished eating, Dorian left the others to linger over their drinks, and went upstairs where he simmered in his room.

He was not alone for long when the Inquisitor entered. Leaning against the door he had just closed, the Inquisitor studied Dorian, his expression grave. “You knew who Adran was,” he said, more statement than question.

“Your Dalish lover, you mean?” It came out colder and harsher than Dorian had intended.

The Inquisitor’s ears lowered. The one gesture that Dorian most wished to avoid. “I had no idea that he would be here.”

Trillian sounded so despondent that Dorian felt a jag of guilt, and realized that he was being childish, pouting over something that was entirely not the Inquisitor’s fault. “Yes, I know, you’ve already said that.” He sighed, mostly at his own foolishness. “I just liked him better as an idea... not as a real flesh and blood elf.” Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “And you never mentioned that he was ridiculously beautiful.”

The Inquisitor’s eyebrow twitched. Then he smiled. “The ridiculously beautiful is exactly my type.”

Dorian felt his own lips twitch into a smile. “Flatterer.”

“I’m yours, Dorian,” he said, reaching to unbuckle his armor. “Would you like me to prove it?”

From his seat on the bed, Dorian watched raptly as the Inquisitor slowly stripped off his armor. He shrugged off his own overcoat before he stood and closed the distance between them. “Perhaps you should try to prove it,” he murmured seductively. “Although, I have to admit that I’ve been considering your proposal.”

The Inquisitor regarded him with intense interest. “Oh?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been someone’s _jahal_.”

The Inquisitor considered him for a moment. “You know that you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Dorian stepped closer, and let his hands rest on the Inquisitor’s hips. He had been thinking about it. True, it wasn’t the role he preferred. On the other hand, he’d already let Iron Bull have his way with him, and, moreover, if he could fulfill one of his beloved Inquisitor’s fantasies, then how could he say no?

He leaned closer, his breath hot against the Inquisitor’s ear. “To tell the truth... I’m now curious about what you would feel like inside me.”

He heard the Inquisitor’s sharp intake of breath. Then the Inquisitor was reaching for him, his mouth on Dorian’s in a series of frenzied, passionate kisses.

The Inquisitor’s fingers dug into his hips, pulling him forward. Dorian moaned softly into the Inquisitor’s mouth as their hips came together, cocks grinding against each other through the fabric. How arousing it was to have the Inquisitor’s tongue in his mouth, and to feel the Inquisitor’s erection, needy and demanding, against his own, as the Inquisitor’s hands kneaded his ass. It was hotter than Dorian had expected, since the last few times had been so gentle.

The Inquisitor maneuvered them so that Dorian was now in his place against the door. Another kiss, and then the Inquisitor, wasting no time, dropped to his knees, opening Dorian’s pants and taking him into his mouth.

Oh, Maker, how he loved this man.

He settled his hands on the Inquisitor’s shoulders as the elf began to suck him. But it wasn’t with the previous frenzy. Instead, the Inquisitor slowed down, now teasing Dorian with tongue, lips and teeth until Dorian could barely breathe from the exquisiteness of his pleasure. “Bed...” he gasped. “Now.”

Trillian gave him one last slow lick before rising to his feet and drawing Dorian towards the bed, each shedding clothing along the way. Now, both naked, Dorian pulled the Inquisitor down over him on the bed.

Lips found his, then traveled down his neck to his chest. He felt the Inquisitor’s tongue and teeth teasing each nipple, as the Inquisitor’s hand wrapped around his cock, sensuously stroking. Unable to stop himself, Dorian groaned, his hips straining up to meet the Inquisitor’s touch.

It was maddening. And wonderful. Dorian make a small noise of protest when the Inquisitor withdrew his hand. Then held his breath as the Inquisitor reached down to withdraw something from his traveling pack by the bed.

Dorian lay back and let Trillian spread his legs.

Dorian tensed as the Inquisitor’s balm-greased fingers teased at him, slowly coaxing him open. He forced himself to draw a deep breath and relax. He then felt one of the Inquisitor’s fingers slip inside him. Involuntarily, he tensed again.

The Inquisitor stilled his hand, shifting up over Dorian to put his mouth on Dorian’s painfully hard and now extremely sensitive cock. As he lightly sucked, Dorian’s body became limp, muscles unclenching. So distracting was the wet heat of the Inquisitor’s mouth that Dorian almost didn’t notice when the Inquisitor introduced a second finger.

Dorian’s breath was jagged when the Inquisitor finally withdrew his mouth and hands. Leaning back on his heels, he reached for the balm again. Dorian watched through heavily-lidded eyes as the Inquisitor applied a liberal amount of grease to his own member. Watching the Inquisitor stroke himself was sexy as all hells, and in response, Dorian’s cock twitched.

Done with the preparations, the Inquisitor looked down at Dorian as he placed a hand on either one of Dorian’s legs, folding them, then lifting them towards Dorian’s chest. As the Inquisitor leaned forward, Dorian felt the Inquisitor’s cock brush against his hole. The Inquisitor became still. “Are you sure?”

The air was thick with anticipation. Dorian considered for a brief moment only. Strangely, a part of him really wanted this. “Yes,” he said, the word becoming a hiss as Trillian pushed inside him.

Moving slowly and carefully, the Inquisitor inched his way inside Dorian. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it felt intrusive. When he tensed up again, the Inquisitor stopped.

“Dorian,” he suggested softly. “Try pushing out as I push in.”

Dorian looked up at him. “Push out...? You mean as if I were taking a shit?”

The Inquisitor trembled with the strain of holding back. “That’s... exactly what I mean.”

“All right.”

As the Inquisitor pushed forward again, Dorian pushed back. Muscles opened within him, and the Inquisitor suddenly slid in.

All of Dorian’s eloquence fled in that moment. He made a noise in his throat, somewhere between a grunt and a moan.

The Inquisitor became still again. “Oh, Creators, Dorian. I’m all the way in. You feel amazing. Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he said. It was all he could manage.

“Tell me when I can move.”

Dorian waited, willing himself to relax as much as possible, as his body became accustomed to having the Inquisitor’s cock inside him. By the expression on his face, it was obvious that Trillian felt it when Dorian’s muscles unclenched. Still, he waited until Dorian gave him permission. “Move.”

The Inquisitor began to slowly slide in and out of him.

_So, this is what it feels like to get fucked by the Inquisitor_ , Dorian thought. It still felt somewhat intrusive, but it didn’t feel bad. Mostly he was grateful that the Inquisitor had used a very generous amount of grease, and that he was making a great effort not to hurt Dorian, and – not to be unkind – was _not_ hung like a Qunari.

The Inquisitor’s breathing was already coming faster now, colored by sound. By his expression, he was enjoying it immensely. If this is what it took to make the Inquisitor happy, then Dorian didn’t mind lying back and letting the Inquisitor fuck him once in a while.

The Inquisitor shifted his hips. A sudden jolt of pleasure shuddered Dorian’s body as the Inquisitor found that sensitive spot inside him. Once again, he made that grunting moan sound in his throat.

On the next thrust, the Inquisitor hit it again, leaving Dorian thoughtless and boneless.

“Ah,” the Inquisitor panted. “Found it...”

A few more slow thrusts like this forced a groan from Dorian’s throat. “Uhh.” He sighed deeply. “Don’t hold back.”

Permission granted, the Inquisitor tightened his grip on Dorian’s hips and began to thrust faster. “Ah... ha... Dorian...”

The sensation changed as the Inquisitor increased his rhythm. All of a sudden, it no longer felt intrusive. It felt... _good._ Then the Inquisitor’s hand snaked around to Dorian’s cock, pumping him in time with his thrusts. The sensation of the Inquisitor’s hand combined with the feel of his well-oiled cock gliding in and out of Dorian’s ass was nothing short of amazing.

He hadn’t expected to enjoy it. He had limited experience of being on the bottom: once in Tevinter with a man who’d foregone any foreplay, and then with Bull, who, although he’d meant no harm, had not been particularly gentle. But now... he briefly marveled at the pleasure he felt, and let himself be swept away by it, riding the exquisite sensations to their inevitable peak.

His resulting spasms drove the Inquisitor over the edge. Another thrust, and then he shuddered above Dorian, his cock throbbing its release deep inside him.

For a moment they were still. Then the Inquisitor moved back. Dorian inhaled sharply at the strange sensation of emptiness as the Inquisitor withdrew. When the Inquisitor stretched out beside him, Dorian slipped an arm around him, combing his fingers through the Inquisitor’s hair.

They remained that way for a while, their breath slowing, their bodies cooling, not speaking. Then the Inquisitor laughed softly. “That was... wow.”

Dorian smirked. “It’s a good thing I don’t love you for your eloquence.”

He leaned up to look at Dorian. “How was it for you?”

Dorian smiled. “We can do it again some time, if you like.”

The Inquisitor regarded him with surprise. Then he smiled. “I think I would like that,” he said.


	22. Seeking Solas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Dagna has repaired the crystal, Dorian and the Inquisitor return to the Fade to find Solas.

Dagna returned with the crystal the very next day. She grinned at Dorian and the Inquisitor, who had been playfully kissing in the relative privacy of the library’s nook, as she held the crystal out to them.

“Sorry to interrupt!” she chirped, with no sign of remorse. “I just wanted to tell you as soon as possible.”

The Inquisitor took it. “You’ve repaired it already?” he asked. When she gave a vigorous nod, he added, “Good job, Dagna.”

She beamed so brightly at this that Dorian thought he might be blinded. He only half-listened to her technical explanation of how she’d made her repairs. Once she’d finally scampered off, he glanced at Trillian. Whom, he noted, looked contemplative. “Something wrong?”

“No, nothing wrong,” he said. “I was just thinking that perhaps we shouldn’t look for Solas. I mean, if he doesn’t want to be found...”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Really? After all this trouble we’ve been through?”

The Inquisitor trailed his fingers down Dorian’s arm. “And I appreciate your efforts,” he said gently. “But, despite what you said before, you don’t owe me anything, Dorian. If anything, for all you’ve done for the Inquisition, I owe _you.”_

“I didn’t fight Corypheus for you,” Dorian said mildly. “I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

The Inquisitor cupped his hand around Dorian’s, threading their fingers together, and squeezing lightly. “You do enough for me already.”

“I know you think so.” Dorian smiled softly as he squeezed back. “Don’t misconstrue what I’m about to say, _amatus_ , but this isn’t about what you think. I don’t like feeling in debt, and I feel indebted to you.”

“I suppose that’s reasonable.”

Dorian raised his other hand, tracing Trillian’s smooth jawline with his fingers. “Don’t let that influence your decision. If you’d really rather not seek Solas, then I will find some other way to repay you.”

The Inquisitor thought for a moment. Then nodded to himself as he came to a decision. “We will return to the Fade tonight.”

***

 Dorian sat up. He tired to figure out why he’d been lying on the floor of the great hall of Skyhold, but when he noticed the Inquisitor sitting beside him, arms loosely wrapped around his knees, and wearing his battlemage armor, Dorian realized that they were in the Fade.

His hand automatically rose to smooth back his hair. “You shaped Skyhold?”

“It’s easier to shape something familiar,” the Inquisitor said as he began the ritual of attuning the crystal to the traces of Solas’s magic in Cole’s amulet, which they’d borrowed again. Once done, he murmured the levitation spell, causing the stone to hover between them in the air.

From the crystal, a thin beam of light directed them towards the main doors. Dorian stood, extending a hand to help Trillian to his feet. An explosion of light from the windows gilded the Inquisitor’s hair from behind, and glinted off the edges of his armor. Gilded, his beauty was celestial.

The Inquisitor was also staring at him with a touch of awe, in particular at his eyes. Dorian wondered what color the were in this light to cause such a reaction. At any rate, he rather liked the way that the Inquisitor was looking at him.

Dorian smiled fondly at him. “Shall we go?”

The Inquisitor blinked once, then composed himself. “Of course.”

They passed through the hall, out the doors, down the stairs, and through the courtyard.

The sky was clear and crisply blue. Dorian wondered if the Inquisitor’s Fade was always sunny, which led him to wonder how he could be so attracted to such an optimist. Staves at the ready, they continued down the next set of stairs, but they didn’t encounter a soul, friendly or otherwise.

The crystal led them to the main entrance of Skyhold. However, instead of the usual massive gates, before them stood the dark maw of a cave.

Stepping in, Dorian noticed a torch on the wall near the mouth of the cave, and lit it with veilfire. Bluish light illuminated the space, revealing a narrow path twisting through the dark, damp rock. The Inquisitor continued to follow the floating crystal, with Dorian close behind, carrying the upraised torch.

The air grew perceptibly cooler as they traveled deeper into the cave. The path widened gradually until they found themselves in a cavern so large that Skyhold itself would have fit inside it. The light from Dorian’s torch fell only a short distance around them, to then be swallowed by the dark.

They had not advanced far before the Inquisitor stopped suddenly. Dorian just barely managed to avoid colliding into his back. “ _Amatus_?”

“Look.”

Dorian stepped to the side, following the Inquisitor’s perplexed gaze to the crystal which was still hovering at chest level, but now was spinning counterclockwise. As they watched, the crystal spun faster and faster, keening now as it cut through the air, the sound rapidly rising. Then, unexpectedly, it exploded.

Tiny shards pelted them with great force. Both Dorian and the Inquisitor had instinctively thrown up their arms to shield their faces. As they both lowered their arms, Dorian shot the Inquisitor a questioning look. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” the Inquisitor said, and was about to speculate when they heard the soft clack of claws on stone, steadily approaching. Fear chilled the Inquisitor’s blood as a monstrous wolf padded out of the darkness. Because it was no ordinary animal. It was one of his gods: Fen’harel, the Dread Wolf.

At his side, Dorian took a fighting stance as he reached for his staff.

The Inquisitor remained frozen from fear as the Dread Wolf advanced another step, and then frozen in shock as the Dread Wolf transformed into Solas.

Despite his transformation, and streaming ribbons of magic, Solas did not break stride. His gaze flicked to Dorian, whose staff was aimed. Solas’s hand snapped up, releasing a burst of energy that sent Dorian flying back, his staff skittering across the ground.

The Inquisitor’s eyes widened, but he remained as is paralyzed, too shocked to even speak.

Solas stopped several paces away. Fire burned in his eyes as he stared down at the Inquisitor. When he spoke, he still sounded like Solas, but his voice was rougher, more resonant, and reverberated throughout the cavern. “You seek me out,” he said. “Why?”

The Inquisitor had to swallow twice to get his voice to work, and even then there was a slight tremor in it. “I... I thought that we were friends.”

Solas cocked his head. It was less that Solas was looking at him, and more like Solas was looking into him and through him. “We were,” he said. “In another life.”

That gesture – the titling of the head and the cocking of an ear – was so distinctly elfin, that, for a moment, the Inquisitor could almost forget that he’d seen a god. Ire colored his tone. “But no longer?”

The god surged forward, a blur of billowing magic and smoke, appearing before Trillian in the blink of an eye. It was so sudden, the Inquisitor involuntarily flinched back. This close, the god’s voice vibrated through his body and tripped over his skin. “You have heard the tales of your people. You, above all others, must know that what you seek is impossible.”

The Inquisitor’s legs quivered. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “I just want answers.”

Solas drew back slightly, regarding him. In his eyes, a million stars danced. “Answers I could give, but it would only be a waste of your time and mine.”

Confused, the Inquisitor frowned. “What does that mean?”

As he straightened, a familiar ghost of a smile appeared on Solas’s lips. For a moment, he was once again just the elfin apostate the Inquisitor had met in the Frostback mountains. “You’re a good man, Inquisitor,” he said, with true warmth. “You’ve been a true friend. I will always remember our time together fondly. But you shall –”

He raised an elegant hand, crackling with mystical light.

“–forget.”

***

Trillian Lavellan jolted up in bed.

He’d had a strange dream. Except that this was just a feeling, as he couldn’t remember any of the details of the dream. For a moment, he sat, trying to catch the tail of it, but every time he grasped at a thread, the image eluded him.

A sleepy voice interrupted his chase. “Is there a reason why you’re wearing your armor in bed?” came the familiar sexy drawl. “Not that I mind, of course. It just adds to the pleasure of undressing you. With my eyes, or otherwise.”

He glanced down and saw Dorian, in his mage robes, sprawled beside him in his bed. Normally a sight he would relish, but now... something was nagging at him. As if he’d forgotten something important. And why were they both dressed for battle? “Dorian,” he said. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Dorian stirred, then sat up, thinking. “We had supper at the refectory with Varric. Then a drink at the tavern with him and Sera. Then we came back to your quarters...” He trailed off, his brow furrowing. “Why do you ask?”

The Inquisitor tapped on one of his pauldrons. “Because we don’t normally dress like this for bed.”

Dorian sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “A fair point.” His gaze wandered unseeing around the room for a moment, then he returned his attention to the Inquisitor. “Strange. I really don’t know what to make of it.”

“Magic, you think?”

“That would be the most logical conclusion.” He paused. “Though it’s possible that someone just played a prank on us. Vivienne doesn’t strike me as the type to make practical jokes, though, so I don’t know who it could have been.” His eyes narrowed. “Oh. Of course. _Sera.”_

The Inquisitor considered that. Indeed, this _was_ something that Sera would do. He also knew that being her friend did not exclude him from being a target of one of her pranks. And given her knowledge of poisons and her connections, getting her hands on a sleeping draught would not have been outside the realm of possibilities. Which would explain how someone else could change their clothes without waking them. He shared these thoughts with Dorian.

Dorian stroked his chin thoughtfully. “That is entirely possible. Though I’m not quite sure how I feel about Sera seeing us naked.”

The Inquisitor chuckled. “Knowing Sera, I doubt she went anywhere near our small clothes. Too much risk of seeing man parts.”

Dorian laughed softly. “True,” he said. Then, “Well, I think you should perhaps have a talk with Sera tomorrow.”

“Not that she would admit it...” The Inquisitor made a loose gesture with his hand. “But, yes. I will.”

Dorian’s gaze slid sideways, as his lips curled into a smile. “Speaking of man parts... Sera might not be interested in seeing yours, but I certainly don’t share her tastes.”

The Inquisitor’s eyes lit up. “If that’s an offer...”

Dorian’s smile grew more sly. “It’s not like you can sleep in that armor. Surely you’d be more... comfortable... if we took it off?”

In the Inquisitor’s eyes, an answer. In each other’s arms, they fell back down to the bed.

 


End file.
